id="pgepubid00012">"Busting" a Broncho

The boys slept that night the dreamless sleep of wholesome fatigue and perfect health, and awoke the next morning as fresh as daisies. Life is astir early on a ranch, and the day's work had fairly begun when they came down to breakfast. The smell of hot coffee and frying bacon had whetted their appetites, and they needed no urging from their hosts to do full justice to the ample meal that awaited them. Then they hurried outdoors to make acquaintance with this new life that they had looked forward to so impatiently.

It was a glorious morning. There was not a cloud in the sky and a light breeze tempered the heat of the sun. At that high level it was seldom sultry, and the contrast to the heat of the sun-baked plains below was refreshing. It amply justified, in the boys' opinion, Mr. Melton's wisdom in the choice of this airy plateau as a location for his home.

The mountains hemmed them in on the north, but on the west and east and south stretched grassy plains and rolling slopes as far as the eye could reach. Great herds of cattle dotted the expanse, and here and there could be seen a mounted cowboy, winding in and out among the stock. Dark lines at short intervals marked the course of artificial canals, that were fed by a series of pipes from brooks back in the mountains. There was an inexhaustible supply of sparkling water, and it was evident that the fortunate owner of this ranch was forever secure against drought—that scourge of the Western plains.

"It must have cost a mint of money to do all that piping and digging," suggested Bert as his eyes took in the vast extent of the operations.

"Yes, a good many thousands," assented his host, "but it pays to do things right. I've already got back a good many times over all that it cost. A single hot barren summer would destroy thousands of head of cattle, to say nothing of the suffering of the poor brutes. And those that didn't die would be so worn to skin and bone that they'd hardly pay the expense of shipping them to market. The only way to make money in ranching nowadays is to do things on a big scale and take advantage of all up-to-date ideas.

"A good many people," he went on, "have an idea that if a man has a good ranch and a few thousand head of stock he's found a short and easy way to riches. That doesn't follow at all. There are just as many chances, just as many ups and downs as in any other business. I know lots of men that once were prosperous ranchers who to-day are down and out, and that too through no fault of their own. Sometimes it's a disease that comes along and sweeps away half of your herd at a single stroke. The drought gets them in summer and a blizzard covers them up in winter. Then, too, there are the cattle rustlers that, in the course of a season, often get away with hundreds of them, change the brand and send them away to their confederates. Many of them are stung by rattlesnakes. The wolves, in a hard winter, pull down a lot of the cows, and sometimes, though not so often, the grizzlies get after them. Take all these things into account, figure up the payroll for the help, the freight charges on your shipments, and it's no wonder that many a man finds a balance on the wrong side of the ledger in lean seasons. No, it isn't all 'peaches and cream' in ranching."

"You spoke of grizzlies a minute ago," said Dick, whose sporting blood had tingled at mention of the name. "Are there many of those fellows around here?"

"Not so many as there used to be," replied Mr. Melton. "They're being pushed further and further north as the country gets more settled. Still there are enough around to make it advisable to keep your eye peeled for trouble whenever you get a little way further up in the mountains. Every once in a while we find the body of a steer partly eaten, and we can always tell when a grizzly has pulled it down."

"How's that?" asked Tom.

"By the way he covers it up," answered Melton. "He always heaps up a pile of brush or dried grass over the carcass. I reckon it's his sign manual to tell other animals who may be skulking around that it's his kill, and that there'll be trouble if any of them go monkeying around it. At any rate, they don't fool with it. They know he's king in these parts. Wherever the grizzly sits is the head of the table."

"Are they really as savage as they are cracked up to be?" asked Bert. "If so, it must be great sport hunting them."

"Are they savage?" echoed their host pityingly. "Say, son, there's nothing on four feet as full of hate and poison, unless perhaps a gorilla. And if it ever came to a tussle between them two, my money would go on the grizzly every time.

"As to it's being great sport hunting them, it's the grizzly that usually does the hunting. For myself, I haven't any ambition that way. I'm perfectly willing to give him his full half of the road whenever we meet. And we won't meet at all, if I see him first. I've had more than one tussle with an old silver-tip, and I've got a few hides up at the house to serve as reminders. But it's always been when it was more dangerous to run than it was to stay and fight it out. There ain't many things on four feet or two that I'd go far out of my way to keep from meeting, but when it comes to a grizzly I haven't any pride at all. There are less exciting forms of amusement. No, my boy, if you're thinking of tackling a grizzly, take a fool's advice and don't do it."

"But a bullet in the right place would stop them as surely as it would anything else, I should think," ventured Tom.

"That's just the point," said Melton. "It's mighty hard to put a bullet in the right place. If you're on horseback, your horse is so mortally scared at sight of the brute that he won't let you get a steady aim. There's nothing on earth that a mustang fears so much as a bear. And, if you're on foot, he moves so swiftly and dodges so cleverly, that it's hard to pick out the right spot to plunk him. And all the time, you know that, if you miss, it's probably all up with you. Even if you get him in the heart, his strength and vitality are such that he may get to you in time enough to take you along with him over the great divide. And it isn't a pleasant way of dying. He just hugs you up in those front paws of his, lifts up his hind paw with claws six inches long, and with one great sweep rips you to pieces. There's no need of a post-mortem to find out how a man has died when a grizzly has got through with him. I've come across such sights at times, and I didn't have any appetite for a day or two afterward.

"But there's no use warning you young rascals, I suppose," he grinned. "You're the kind that looks for trouble as naturally as a bee hunts for clover. I'll bet at this very minute you're honing to get after a silver-tip. Own up, now, ain't you?"

The boys laughed and flushed a little self-consciously.

"Hardly that, perhaps," answered Bert. "But if you should happen by any chance to come across one, I wouldn't mind being along."

"Righto," said Dick emphatically.

"Same here," echoed Tom.

"Hopeless cases," said Mr. Melton quizzically, shaking his head. "I suppose there's no use arguing with you. I was that way once myself, but I've learned now to keep out of trouble as much as I can."

"Just as you did down in Mexico," suggested Dick slyly.

The boys roared and Melton looked a little sheepish.

"You scored on me that time," he laughed. "But come along now down to the bunk house and meet some of the boys. A good many are away riding herd, but the foreman is here and two or three of the others, and a lot more will come in when it's time for grub."

"How many men do you need to run the ranch?" asked Dick.

"Oh, about twenty, more or less," answered Melton. "In the busiest season I usually take on a few more to help out, especially when I'm getting ready to ship the stock.

"Pretty good set of fellows I have now," he went on as he led the way toward the men's quarters. "Not a trouble