's note: rustle?] around the
other way and round up them steers! Hustle now! What's the matter
with you? Want to go to sleep on the trail?"

Billy Carew, foreman of the Triple O ranch, addressed these remarks to
a rather ugly-looking Indian, who was riding a pony that seemed much
too small for him. The Indian, who was employed as a cowboy, was
letting his steed amble slowly along, paying little attention to the
work of rounding up the cattle.

"Come now, Low Bull, get a move on," advised the foreman. "Make
believe you're hunting palefaces," he added, and then, speaking in a
lower tone he said: "this is the last time I'll ever hire a lazy Indian
to help round-up."

"What's the matter, Billy?" asked a tall, well-built lad, riding up to
the foreman.

"Matter? Everything's the matter. Here I foolishly go and give Low
Bull charge of the left wing of rounding up these steers, and he's so
lazy and good-for-nothing that he'll let half of 'em get away 'fore we
get back to the ranch. Get a move on you now!" he called to the
Indian, and, seeing that the foreman was very much in earnest, Low Bull
urged his pony to a gallop, and began to get the straggling steers into
some kind of shape.

"Can't I help you, Billy?" asked the boy.

Since he is to figure largely in this story I shall give you a brief
description of him. Roy Bradner was the only son of James Bradner, who
owned a large ranch, near the town of Painted Stone, in Colorado. The
boy's mother was dead, and he had lived with his father on the ranch
ever since he was a baby.

Spending much of his time in the open air, Roy had become almost as
strong and sturdy as a man, and in some respects he could do the work
of one.

He was quite expert in managing horses, even steeds that had never
known a saddle, and at throwing the lariat, or lasso, few on the ranch
could beat him. He was a good shot with the revolver and rifle, and,
in short, was a typical western boy.

"Can't I help you, Billy?" the lad asked again, as he saw the foreman
had not appeared to hear his question.

"Yes, I wish you would, Roy. Ride up there alongside of Low Bull, and
sort of keep him up to the mark. It sure looks as if he was going to
sleep in the saddle."

"I'll do it, Billy. Where are we going to camp to-night?"

"Well, I guess if we make a few miles more I'll call it a day's work
and quit. We've done pretty well, and if Low Bull would have done his
share, we'd be nearer the