The next day he was seen with Boar Hound, the kinked-necked sorrel, the Roman-nosed gruller, and a few more ornery ponies of the “rough string.” A company bunch more fitting to his kind.
The days was getting longer and warmer, the snow begin packing and melting some, and pretty soon bare patches of ground showed in plain sight. Smoky and Pecos’ hides begin a itching and the two was often busy a scratching one another and starting from the neck went to the withers along the backbone to the rump and back again. Big bunches of long winter hair begin a slipping and falling to the ground as they scratched, and came a time when as they rolled, more of that hair was left till finally patches of short slick satin-like hair begin to show.
Then green and tender grass begin to loom up and plentiful, and that finished the work of ridding the ponies hides of all the long hair that was left. Creeks was swelling from the waters of the fast melting snows, spring had come and the sunshine and warm winds that came with it was doing its work.
The roundup cook was once again scrubbing on the chuck box that was on the end of the long wagon, and the cowboys, one by one begin a drifting in from parts near and far anxious to be starting on the spring works again. Some came from the different cow camps of the Rocking R range, a few of the riders that’d been let go when work was done the fall before never showed up, but others rode in and after a few words with Jeff took the places of them that was missing.
Clint had wintered at one of the outfit’s camps and drawed his wages regular, and when the range land begin to get bare of snow and the watching out for weak stock was no more necessary he put his bed on one horse, his saddle on another, and headed for the home ranch. He was one of the first riders to reach that place, and when the horse roundup started he was one of the first to have his horse saddled, topped off, and lined out to sashay in all of the ponies that could be found on the horse range.
Smoky had been feeding on the sunny side of a butte, and for no reason other than to be looking around he raised his head; only his ears and eyes showed as he looked over the top of that butte; but that was enough for him to see a rider coming his direction, and see him before that rider ever had a hunch any horses was around anywheres near.
Smoky snorted and hightailed it down the side of the butte to where Pecos and a few other ponies had also been feeding, and the way he acted left no doubt in their minds but what they should be on the move. They all was at full speed the minute he landed amongst ’em, and when the rider topped the butte where they’d been a few minutes before, they had the lead on him by near a mile.
But the ponies wasn’t wanting to get away near as much as might of been thought. It was only that Smoky had got spooked up at the sudden sight of the rider, and him and all the others feeling good as they did wasn’t needing much excuse. The cowboy fogged down on ’em and a little to one side so as to turn ’em. They turned easy enough even though the rider was a long ways behind, and making a big circle that rider finally had ’em headed towards the big corrals of the home ranch.
A big grin spread over the cowboy’s features as the sun shined on the slick back of the mouse colored horse at the lead of the bunch, and even though there was a half a mile between him and that horse, that cowboy knowed daggone well it was him, for the sun never reflected on no other horse’s hide as well as it did on Smoky’s, and besides, there was no mistaking the good feeling action of that pony’s.
“Told you I’d be the first to see you when spring broke up,” says the cowboy as he held his horse down to a lope.
The twenty-five mile run from the time Smoky had been spotted kinda filled the bill far as running was concerned, and when the long wings of the pole corrals at the home ranch was reached the rider was right on the ponies’ tails and on the job to keep ’em going straight ahead into the corral;—then the big gate closed in on ’em.
“Guess you don’t know me no more,” says Clint to Smoky as he stood afoot in the corral and watched the pony tear around;—then to hisself:
“Maybe he don’t know it’s me that’s watching him.”
Clint was right, the long winter months of freedom without seeing one human had kind of let him get back to his natural wild instinct, and the first sight of Clint had been of just a human, and it’d spooked him up till he’d have to calm down some before it’d come to him just who that human was.
The cowboy spoke to him as Smoky, wild eyed, snorted and hunted for a hole, but Clint kept a speaking, and as the pony tore around and heard the voice, something gradually came to him that seemed far away and near forgot. He stopped a couple of times to look at the cowboy, and each time his getting away was less rushing, till, as the voice kept a being heard, things got clearer and clearer in that pony’s brain.
Smoky had stopped once more, and neck bowed, ears straight ahead, and eyes a sparkling, faced acrost the corral to where the cowboy, still and standing, was talking to him.
“Daggone your little
