CHAPTER XVIII
ROPED!
Like a blow struck came that announcement to Bud Merkel. And to hischums and partners in their first small venture as boy ranchers ontheir own responsibility, the announcement of the veterinarian wasstaggering.
"Germs!" exclaimed Nort.
"Epidemic!" voiced Dick.
"Has it really struck here--the same disease that was among dad'scattle?" asked Bud, as though hoping there might be some mistake.
"It's here all right," went on Dr. Tunison, rising from his stoopingposition beside a dead steer. He looked about for a puddle of water inwhich to wash his hands, and, having completed the operation, using adisinfectant from a bottle he produced, he added: "Better fence offthis puddle, Bud. If any of your other cattle happen to drink herethey'll get the disease, too, and bump off."
That was his way of saying that the steers would die.
"I'll do that!" declared Bud. "We can cut the water off from this partof the range. But what causes the epidemic, Doc? Dad was careful notto send me any of his infected cattle from Square M, and he said you'dexamined all that came, and they didn't have any of the trouble."
"They didn't," declared the veterinarian. "I examined them all, andnothing was wrong with them. But this epidemic is a germ disease, Bud,and we don't exactly know how the germs are carried. It may besomething the cattle eat; the bunch grass or other fodder, in thewater; or it may come out of the air. All we know is that certaingerms, in some, as yet unknown, way, enter into the system of thesteer. They get into the blood through the mouth or nostril, orperhaps from a scratch or cut. And once the germs are there, so rapidis the action that the animals die over night--as yours have done, andas your father's did."
"Has dad lost any more?" asked Bud.
"Not that I've heard of. In fact I thought by his action, in sendingthe healthy animals of his Square M herd here, and to his otherranches, that he'd gotten the best of it. But now the epidemic breaksout here. I can't understand it!"
The veterinarian stood looking down at the dead animal, while thebuzzards patiently waited nearby for the feast they knew belonged tothem. Evidently they were not fearful of germs.
"What's that funny smell?" suddenly asked Nort.
"That? Oh, it's the smell characteristic of the disease," replied Dr.Tunison. "Not very pleasant. I got some of the pus on myhands--that's why I washed and disinfected them. Well, Bud, I'm afraidyou're in for it!"
"You mean the epidemic may run through all my stock?" asked the boyrancher, anxiously.
"It may, and that's the reason I'm putting you on your guard. Butlet's hope for the best. We'll act promptly. Fence this place off, ordon't let any more water here, where other cattle can drink from thepool, that must, of necessity, be contaminated, now that I washed myhands in it, if for no other reason. Also separate the other cattleinto as many herds as you can handle. In this way, if the epidemicgets among one bunch, you don't stand to lose so many. This is aboutall you can do."
"No preventative measures?" asked Bud.
"No. If the cattle remain healthy they may resist the germs. Naturesometimes provides her own remedies. She'll have to, in a case likethis, where so little is known about this malady that no cure is yetavailable to science."
"That sure is a funny smell--I don't like it!" said Nort again.
"No, it isn't very pleasant," agreed the veterinarian.
And then Bud, who had been in a serious, brown study seemed, for thefirst time, to become aware of the evil odor.
"That smell! That smell!" he cried. "I've smelled it before!"
"Not unless you came in contact with the germs," spoke Dr. Tunison."Where did you smell it, Bud?"
But, as suddenly as he had spoken, Bud Merkel became silent. He seemedto be thinking deeply, and as he turned aside he said:
"Oh, maybe it was when Old Billee rode in to tell me he had seen thesedead steers."
"Possibly," admitted the veterinarian. "The smell is verycharacteristic, as I said. But you'd better arrange to bury theseanimals, Bud."
"There isn't any danger--I mean to humans; is there?" Bud asked. "Ifthere is we'll let 'em stay here. The buzzards will make short work of'em."
"No, there's no danger to man, even in directly handling the germs.That has been proved," said Dr. Tunison. "But if you let the cattlelie here, and the buzzards eat 'em, in some manner the disease may becarried to your other cattle. Best bury 'em, and fence off thiswater-hole."
Which was done. So the evil-looking buzzards were deprived of a feast,and flapped mournfully away.
There were anxious days that followed the appearance of the epidemicamong the cattle of the boy ranchers. I speak of the cattle as theirown, and they were, in a sense. For though, of course, Mr. Merkelreally owned Flume Valley, and put up the cash to start the boys inbusiness, he had determined that they should run the place as though itwas their own. They must stand or fall by what happened. It was theonly real way to start them in the way of becoming cattlemen, hedecided.
So, though the boys were young, possibly the youngest ranchers in thatpart of the west, they were in earnest and accepted all theresponsibilities that went with the venture.
Bud was very thoughtful those anxious days. There was hard work forall, since dividing the doubled herds into small units meant that eachcowboy, including Bud, Nort and Dick, had to look after a certainnumber day and night. But no one shirked, even Buck Tooth workingunusually hard in addition to doing the cooking. Though Indian bravesare constitutionally opposed to labor, Buck Tooth made an idealherdsman.
Not as much time was spent in camp as had formerly been the case, asthe boy ranchers and their older helpers were more often out ridingherd. But occasionally many of them gathered at the tents to comparenotes and "feed up," as Snake put it. His wound, received in the fightwith the rustlers, had healed.
"Some day we'll have regular ranch houses here instead of just a camp,"Bud said, as he was riding back one day to look after the herd he hadassigned to himself.
"Oh, this isn't so bad," spoke Nort.
"Real jolly, I call it!" added Dick.
"If only the water supply keeps up, and no more epidemic comes, we'llbe all right," Bud announced. "At the same time I can't be sure ofeither."
This was true. Though the water flowed merrily on since the time thelads had penetrated the length of the tunnel, there was always anuneasy feeling, on the part of the boy ranchers and their friends, thatit might stop at any time.
"And when it dries up again," Bud declared, "I'm not going to besatisfied until I find out what makes it quit flowing!"
"That's the idea!" added Nort. "We'll solve the mystery!"
As the days passed, and no more cattle were found ill or dead from theepidemic, the hopes of the boy ranchers began to rise. Had they caughtthe malady in time? Could it be stamped out by the burial of the fivesteers? Time alone--and a longer time than had so far elapsed--couldtell.
Bud, Nort and Dick each had charge of a herd, the three bunches ofcattle being pastured on adjoining areas of rich grass.
But the distances separating them were not so great but that Bud andhis cousins could exchange visits. And it was on one of theseoccasions that there occurred something which cleared up, in part atleast, the mystery hanging over Flume Valley.
The boy ranchers were about to part for the evening, having spent theafternoon together over "grub," cooking at an open fire; and Nort andDick were preparing to ride back to their herds, Bud being on theground, so to speak, where he would "bunk" for the night.
As they rode down into a little swale amid the gathering shadows of thenight, a bunch of cattle moved uneasily along ahead of them, and as thesteers parted there was disclosed in their midst the forms of a man anda horse.
"Who's that?" suddenly asked Dick.
"It isn't one of our boys," declared Nort.
Bud suddenly sat upright in his saddle. He breathed deeply, and thenquickly spurred forward
. His cousins saw him swinging his lariataround his head.
In an instant it went swishing through the air, and, a moment later, asthe coils settled about the figure of a man who started to leap for hispony, Bud let out a yell, shouting:
"Roped! Roped, by Zip Foster!"