CHAPTER XVII
"GERMS!"
Pocut Pete did not become aware of the approach of the boy ranchers andOld Billee until they were almost upon him. He was either so intent onwhat he was doing, or else the fact that the ponies were on a grassyfooting made their advance practically noiseless, that, seemingly, heheard nothing.
However it was, the cowboy, about whom Bud entertained suspicious, kepton with what he was doing--something strange to one of themilder-tempered steers. Something "mighty queer," as Bud had said in awhisper to his chums. Which whisper accounted for the fact that PocutPete had not heard the voice.
So it was not until their shadows, mingling with those of thedescending night, fell athwart him that the cowboy looked up with astart.
"Oh!" exclaimed Pocut Pete, and then Bud and the others saw that he hada knife in his hand, and something else. Something that glistened whenOld Billee struck a match to light his pipe. For the old cowboy had,long ago, passed up the inevitable paper cigaret, and used the moresedate form of the weed.
"What's the idea?" asked Bud, and his question seemed to give PocutPete a chance to pull himself together, to answer with more coolnessthan he had exhibited by his first exclamation.
"This steer had some sort of a growth on his shoulder--like a wart,"explained the cowboy. "I was just seeing if I could cut it off."
"You'd better be careful!" warned Old Billee.
"Why?" asked Pocut Pete so quickly that the other's remark might havewell carried a threat, which, in the tone Billee used it, did not.
"You may get horned," went on the veteran cow puncher. For many of thecattle on the range of Bud and his cousins "wore their horns long," soto speak. Gradually the dehorning system was spreading through thewest, but such an innovation, found to be most practical from allstandpoints, took time to grow.
"Oh, this chap isn't dangerous," went on Pocut Pete with a laugh,closing his rather large pocket knife with a snap. "All the same, ifyou don't want me to snip off that wart I won't."
"I wouldn't," said Bud. "Not but what I'm glad to have you take aninterest in the cattle," he went on, "but cutting one with a knifemight bring on blood poisoning."
"Yes, an' jabbin' a knife into one might set it wild, an' it would rushoff an' start a stampede," said Billee.
"I realized that," admitted Pocut Pete, "so that's why I didn't do ituntil I got this steer off by himself."
He spoke this truly enough, for the lone animal he had been "operating"on was some distance from the main herd.
"I never saw a wart on a steer," spoke Bud, as he urged his pony nearerto where the strange cowboy stood on the ground close to the beefanimal. "It's queer----"
There was a sudden movement. Pocut Pete leaped back and the steer, asthough taking fright at Bud's advance, lowered its head, and, with aloud bellow, sprang away.
"I told you so!" called out Old Billee. "You might 'a' got horned,Pete!"
"Oh, I was watching," came the answer. "Yes, warts do, sometimes, comeon cattle," he went on. "I've cut off lots of 'em. Some beef menwon't pass 'em if they have any. I thought I was doing you a favor."He spoke in an injured tone of voice.
"Well, maybe you were," admitted Bud. "First I thought you weresomeone else."
"One of the Double Z bunch?" asked Pocut Pete with a laugh. "Did youfind out anything over there?" he inquired as he caught his pony, whichhad been standing near-by, and leaped into the saddle.
"Nary a thing," voiced Old Billee.
And then, as the group, Pocut Pete included, headed back for camp, theold cowboy broke into song, roaring out:
"Send me a letter, kid, Write it yo'self! Put in some news of th' city. For it's lonesome out here, 'Neath th' blue, starry sky, An' cowboys don't get any pity!"
"What's struck you?" laughed Bud.
"Oh, I feel sorter so-so," affirmed Old Billee. "We're in for a storm,I reckon."
"And that's your weather indication!" chuckled Nort.
"Yeppy," agreed the veteran, and he broke into another verse of theinterminable song--one of the series that cowboys love to warble.
"What do you think of Pocut Pete?" asked Dick of Bud in the seclusionof their own tent that night.
"Oh, I don't know what to think," was the answer. "I did have him downfor a drinker, or a doper, but he doesn't seem to be either, and hedoes his work well. Only I don't know what to make of his actionsto-night. Warts! On a steer! That sounded fishy to me!"
"Same here!" agreed Dick.
But as several days passed, and nothing more suspicious occurred, theaction of Pocut Pete was rather forgotten. Nor was there any furthertrouble with the rustlers, or the lack of water. In spite of thewarnings and veiled threats that had been received, the black pipestill spouted into the reservoir.
And then, like lightning out of a clear sky, came a bolt that gave theboy ranchers a shock.
Old Billee riding in from off the distant range one day, called to Budwho was opening some of the reservoir gates to let water run to adistant trough for the cattle.
"Bad business, Bud!" exclaimed the veteran.
"What's that?" asked the lad, with an instinctive glance at the blackpipe, whence the water spouted. His first thought was of that.
"There's five of your steers dead, over near the last water trough!"was the answer.
"Steers dead!" gasped Bud. "Rustlers?" he asked, quickly.
"Don't 'pear to be," Billee answered. "There isn't a mark on 'em.Maybe it's glanders. Better get Doc. Tunison right over."
Which Bud did, by telephone.
The veterinarian, who looked after the health of cattle in thatvicinity, appeared in due season. Bud, with his cousins and Old Billeewent out to where the dead cattle lay, now stiff and stark. Somebuzzards flopped heavily off as the party approached.
"Hum!" mused Dr. Tunison as he began his examination. It did not takehim long to complete it. "I thought so," he remarked, as he looked atBud.
"What is it?"
"Germs!" was the answer. "The epidemic's struck you, Bud!"