The sharp-eyed pony would
see almost as soon as his rider which cow was wanted and he
needed small guidance from that time on. He would follow hard at
her heels, edging her constantly toward the flank of the herd, at
times nipping her hide as a reminder of his own superiority. In
spite of herself the cow would gradually turn out toward the
edge, and at last would be swept clear of the crush, the calf
following close behind her. There was a whirl of the rope and the
calf was laid by the heels and dragged to the fire where the
branding irons were heated and ready.
Meanwhile other cow-punchers are rushing calves to the branding.
The hubbub and turmoil increase. Taut ropes cross the ground in
many directions. The cutting ponies pant and sweat, rear and
plunge. The garb of the cowboy is now one of white alkali which
hangs gray in his eyebrows and moustache. Steers bellow as they
surge to and fro. Cows charge on their persecutors. Fleet
yearlings break and run for the open, pursued by men who care not
how or where they ride.
We have spoken in terms of the past. There is no calf round-up of
the open range today.
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