The Boy from the Ranch

Or

Roy Bradner's City Experiences

BY

FRANK V. WEBSTER

AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "THE NEWSBOY
PARTNERS," "BOB THE CASTAWAY," "THE
YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1909, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE BOY FROM THE RANCH

CHAPTER I

ROY RECEIVES A MESSAGE

"Hi there, Low Bull, ruste [Transcriber'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 ranch than we are now. I don't want any better round-up men than Nesting Henderson and the rest, but we need another man, and that's why I had to take Low Bull along. But I'll know better next time."

"Never mind, Billy. I'll see if I can't keep him on the go," said Roy, and, with a ringing shout, to hurry up some lagging steers, he touched his horse lightly with the spurs, and dashed toward where the Indian was making a half-hearted effort to keep his division of the drive from straggling.

"I've come to help you, Low Bull," announced Roy, as he reached the side of the Indian.

"Hu! Boy heap smart!" grunted the redman. "Steers like boy—go fast now."

In fact it seemed as if the cattle knew some one was now behind them who would keep them on the move, for they quickened their pace.

"I don't know whether they like me or not," remarked Roy, with a laugh that showed his white teeth in contrast to his bronzed skin, "for I reckon if I happened to fall off my horse they'd trample over me mighty quick; they sure would."

"Hu! Mebby so. Steers no like men not on hoss," spoke Low Bull, stating a fact well known among cattlemen, for the steers of the plains are so used to seeing a man on a horse, that once a cowboy is dismounted the cattle become frightened, and are liable to stampede, and trample the unfortunate man to death.

"Billy says we must hurry the steers along," went on Roy. "We're going to camp pretty soon, and he wants to get to the ranch as soon as possible, though I guess it will take us two days more."

"No need so much rush," said Low Bull. "Go slow be better. Boy drive steers now, Low Bull take smoke and think. Low Bull much tired."

"I guess he was born that way," thought Roy, as he saw the redman start to make a cigarette, a habit he had learned from the white cowboys. Low Bull was soon smoking in peace and comfort, while he let his pony amble along at its own sweet will. The Indian gave no further thought to the cattle, leaving the management of the stragglers to Roy, and the lad had to dash here and there on his nimble pony, shouting and waving his lariat, to keep the lagging steers up with the rest of the herd. However, Roy was so full of life, and took so much interest in his work, that he did not mind doing Low Bull's share, as well as his own.

"That's just like that lazy Indian," remarked Billy Carew, as he observed, from a distance, what Roy was doing. "He'll let the boy do all the work. I'll discharge him after this round-up, that's what I'll do. Might have known better than to hire one of them copper-skins!"

Roy, whose father owned the Triple O ranch, had come out on this round-up about a week previously. On all big ranches it is the custom, at stated intervals to send out a party of men to round-up, or gather together, in herds, the cattle or horses that may have strayed to distant pastures.

Sometimes a week or more is spent on this work, the men sleeping out of doors, and making camp wherever darkness overtakes them. During the night they take turns riding around the cattle, to keep them from straying away.

Day by day the herd is driven nearer the ranch, until they are either placed in corrals, which are big pens, or are counted, brands put on the new calves, and turned out again, to roam about over the immense pastures, and fatten up for the market.

Mr. Bradner was an extensive ranch owner, and had several herds of cattle. He was considered quite wealthy, but he had made his money by hard work, having very little when he first went out west with his wife and little boy. His wife had died soon after he reached Colorado, and, after his baby days, Roy had been brought up by his father.

The boy liked the life on the ranch, and was fast becoming an expert along cattle lines. He was a good judge of steers and horses, and, while he knew nothing of city ways, never since a mere infant having been in anything larger than a town, and not having traveled more than a few miles, there was nothing about life on the plains but what he was acquainted with.

After much hard riding Roy managed to get that part of the herd entrusted to the Indian, into compact form. Then he came back to his companion, who was riding along as if he had nothing more to think about than keeping his cigarette lighted.

"Hu! Heap smart boy!" grunted Low Bull. "Know how make steers travel."

"I should think you would know how to do it too," said Roy. "You've always lived on the plains."

"Too much work. Indian no like work. Like sit an' think, an' smoke. No like work."

"Everybody's got to work in this world, Low Bull."

"Rich man no work. Me like be rich man."

"But the man sure had to work hard to get rich. I s'pose rich men feel that they can take life easy after they have earned a fortune."

"Indian no like work. Drive cattle too hard. Me quit soon," was all Low Bull replied.

"Yes, and if you don't quit I think Billy will make you vamoose anyhow," murmured Roy.

Low Bull rolled another cigarette, and seemed to go to sleep under the influence of it. Roy had to race off after a couple of straying steers, and had no further time for talking. When he had brought the cattle back, a long, shrill cry echoed over the plain. At the sound of it Low Bull seemed to wake up.

"Billy make camp now," he said. "Soon supper—eat—Low Bull hungry."

It was the signal for making camp, and, finding themselves no longer urged forward, the steers stopped, and began to crop the rich grass.

The cowboys, of whom there were several, with joyful shouts, came riding up to the cook wagon, which had been pulled along in the rear, but which now came to a halt on the broad, rolling plain. "Smoke" Tardell started a fire from grease-wood, and began to prepare the evening meal.

"Set out plenty of grub, Smoke," called one of the cowboys, riding close up to Tardell, and playfully snatching his big sombrero off.

"Here! You let that be, Bruce Arkdell!" exclaimed the cook. "That's my new hat, an' I don't want it spoiled!"

"Give me an extra plate of beans, or I'll shoot a hole in it!" threatened the cowboy, drawing hit heavy revolver, and aiming it at the hat, which he held in one hand.

"All right. You can have three platesful, but don't you spoil my hat!" cried the cook, as he received back his sombrero. "I never see such crazy chaps as them boys be when they're headed for the ranch," muttered "Smoke," as he set the coffee pot over the fire.

It did not take long to prepare the meal, and the cowboys crowded around the "grub wagon" as they called it. Low Bull was among them, his eyes greedy for food.

"Here, Low Bull," exclaimed Billy Carew, "you go out and ride around them steers awhile. They ain't quieted down yet, and I don't want no stampede now. Ride around 'em, and make 'em feel easy."

"After supper," said the Indian.

"No, now!" insisted the foreman.

"Low Bull hungry. Like eat."

"Low Bull is going to stay hungry then, until some of the others have piled in their grub," declared Billy. "I'll send somebody out to take your place, as soon as they've eaten. Now vamoose!"

"Low Bull like eat."

"Yes, I know. Low Bull like eat, but no like work. That's what's the matter with Low Bull," exclaimed Billy with a laugh. "Now git."

The Indian knew there was no use disputing this decision, so, with no very good grace, he started to ride slowly around the cattle, to keep them from moving off in a body.

"I'll go out and relieve him in a little while," offered Roy. "I'll soon be through supper."

"You take your time now, son," advised Billy. "It won't hurt that redskin to go hungry a while. Maybe he'll be a little sprier after this."

Supper was soon served, and when Roy had eaten his share he prepared to go out, and relieve Low Bull. He threw the saddle over his pony's back, and, having tightened the girths, was about to vault into place, when he and the other cowboys became aware that some one was riding in great haste toward the temporary camp.

"Somebody's coming," remarked Bruce Arkdell.

"Don't you s'pose we know it," said Billy good naturedly. "We've got our sight yet."

"Yes, and it's Porter Simms, from the way he gallops," added the cook, shading his eyes from the setting sun, and peering across the prairies at the riding man.

"'Tis Porter," confirmed Billy. "Wonder what he wants? Hope nothing's happened."

Somehow the words sent a slight feeling of fear to Roy's heart. The man might have bad news for some one in camp.

"Is Roy here?" cried Porter, as soon as he had come within talking distance.

"Yes, I'm here," replied the boy. "What's the matter? Is it my father—?"

"Now don't go gettin' skeered," advised Porter, as he pulled up his horse sharply. "I sure did ride fast to locate you, but your daddy wanted me to be sure to tell you, first-off, not to git skeered."

"What's the matter?" asked Roy, his heart fluttering.

"Well, your daddy's a little under the weather, and he wants for you to come back to the ranch right away. That's the message I was to give to you. Don't wait to come in with the steers, but start right off. I'll stay here and take your place."

"Is he—was he very bad?" asked Roy, who had left his father, seemingly, in perfect health.

"No, not so very I guess. The doctor was there, and he didn't seem much put out. I reckon Mr. Bradner had a sort of a bad turn, that's all."

"I'll start right away," decided Roy. "If I ride all night I can get there by morning."

"Don't you want one of us to go with you?" asked Billy.

"No. I'm not afraid. I've done it before. Smoke, will you pack me a little grub?"

"Surest thing you know!" exclaimed the cook, as he began to do up some bacon and bread.

CHAPTER II

MR. BRADNER IS SUSPICIOUS

Crowding around Roy in ready sympathy, the cowboys questioned Porter as to the state of affairs at the ranch. The messenger knew very little about it. He had been to a distant pasture land, when he had been summoned to the ranch house by another cowboy, who was sent after him. When he got back he found Mr. Bradner quite ill.

"He said he wanted me to go for Roy," went on Porter, "'cause he knew I could ride fast. But he particular didn't want Roy to git worried. He said it was as much a business matter as anything."

"Maybe he's goin' to die an' wants to make his will," suggested one of the cowboys.

"Here! What's the matter with you! Don't you know no better than that?" demanded Billy in a hoarse whisper. "Want to give Roy a scare? I'll peg you out if you do that again!"

"I—I didn't think!"

"No, I guess you didn't. Lucky he didn't hear you. Now you think twice before you speak once, after this."

"Here's your grub," announced the cook, holding out a big package to Roy. It contained enough food for three men, but Roy was a favorite with "Smoke," as indeed he was with all the men on the ranch, and this was the only way the genius of the camp-fire could show his affection.

"Say, what do you think he goin' to do? Be three days on the home trail?" asked Billy. "He don't want no snack like that. He can't carry it."

"I thought maybe he'd be hungry in the night."

"I expect I will be, but not enough to get away with all that," remarked Roy with a smile, as he saw the big package. "I just want a little bread, and some cold bacon."

The cook, with a sigh at the thought of the boy not being able to eat all the food, made a smaller package. Meanwhile Roy was in the saddle, ready to travel, wondering what could be the matter with his father, and why his parent had sent for him in such a hurry.

"Got your gun?" asked Porter.

"Yes," answered Roy, tapping the pistol in its holster at his belt.

"Maybe you'd better take my pony," suggested Billy. "He can travel faster than yours."

"No; Jack Rabbit's good enough for me," replied the boy, patting his own pony on the neck. "Yours may be a bit faster, but Jack Rabbit will stick longer. Well, I'm off!"

"Good luck!" called Billy.

"Don't worry!" advised Porter.

"We'll see you in a couple of days," shouted the other cowboys. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," said Roy, as he called to his pony, who started off on a steady "lope" that rapidly carried him over the ground.

Now that he was away from the confusion of the camp, and had nothing to distract his mind, Roy gave himself up to thoughts of his father.

"He must be quite sick," he reasoned, "or he never would have sent for me in such a rush. I wonder if Porter was afraid to tell me the truth?"

For an instant the fear that his father might be dead, and that the cowboy had not dared to tell him of it, unnerved Roy. Then his natural braveness came back to him.

"Oh, pshaw! What's the use of thinking such gloomy thoughts," he said to himself. "Maybe dad only had a little fit of indigestion, like he had before. I remember then I thought he sure was going to die. But Porter said it was as much business as anything else. Now what sort of business could dad have that he would need me in such a hurry?"

Roy did not see any prospect of his questions being answered, at least until he got to the ranch, and could talk to his father, so he continued on, urging his pony to a faster gait.

It soon began to get dark, but Roy did not mind this, as he had often ridden all night when on a round-up. Of course, on such occasions he had been in company with his father's cowboys. Still, the prospect of his lonely journey through the darkness did not alarm him.

He knew the trail very well, from having been over it often, and, though there were occasionally ugly Indians, or unemployed cowboys, to be met with on the plains, Roy did not imagine he would have any trouble with them. He was armed, but he hoped he would have no occasion to draw his revolver.

There were no wild animals, except steers, to be met and these, he knew, would be in herds under the care of competent men. Besides a steer rarely attacks a man on a horse.

So Roy rode through the long night. About one o'clock he stopped, built a little grease-wood fire, and warmed his bacon. Then he munched that and the bread with a good appetite, drinking some coffee the cook had given him in a flask.

"I ought to get to the ranch by sun-up," thought the boy, and he was not mistaken, for, when the golden ball peeped up over the prairies Roy saw the outbuildings of his father's big cattle farm. A little later he had ridden up to the ranch house, and dismounted.

"My father! How is he?" he exclaimed, as he saw the cook on the verandah.

"Better," was the reply, and the boy felt a sense of relief. "Much better. Come right in and have some hot coffee. I've got it all ready for you."

"Not until I've seen my father," and Roy hurried into the ranch house.

"Is that you, Roy?" called a voice from a bedroom.

"Yes, father! How are you?"

"Considerable better. I hope you were not alarmed."

"Well, I was—some."

Roy saw that his father was in bed. The man looked quite pale, and on a stand, near him, were several bottles of medicine.

"What is it, father?" asked Roy. "What happened?"

"Well, nothing much, though I was afraid it was at the time. I got one of my bad spells of indigestion, and it affected my heart."

"Did you think you were going to die?"

"Well, I did, but the doctor only laughed at me. He said I was needlessly alarmed, and I think, now, that I was. But when I was in such pain, fearing something would happen, I thought of a business matter that needed attending to. I decided I had better get my affairs in shape—in case anything should happen, so I sent for you, to have a talk."

"What sort of a talk, father?"

"A business talk. I'm going to have you undertake something in an entirely new line. You're a pretty good cattleman now, and I want to see how you'll make out on a business deal."

"What kind?"

"I'll soon explain. But tell me; how is Billy, and the boys?"

"Very well."

"Are they getting the cattle in good shape? Where did Porter find you?"

"The cattle will be here to-morrow, I think. Porter came up just as we were camping out near the small dried creek in the big swale," replied Roy, describing the place so that his father would know it. "But now tell me about this business. I am glad you are better."

"Yes, I feel much improved. My indigestion is all gone, and I think I can eat breakfast. I'll tell you then."

Roy could hardly wait for the meal to be finished. After his father had had his repast in bed, Mr. Bradner told his son to close the door, and sit down close beside him.

"I'm going to take you into my confidence," said the ranch owner. "It's time you knew something of my business affairs, and I am going to entrust you with a commission. A good deal depends on the success of it."

"I hope I can do it, father."

"I am pretty sure you can, or I would not let you go. Now I'll tell you what it is. You do not know it, but I have an interest in some property, left by your mother's brother, your Uncle Henry Mayfield. This property was left to your mother, and when she died the property came to me, and to you. That is, I have a third interest in it, and you have two-thirds."

"That hardly seems fair. You should have more than I."

"Never mind, Roy. In fact I intend that, in time, you shall have the whole of the property."

"Where is it located?"

"In New York City."

"New York? That is a long way off."

"Yes, a good many miles. In fact I have never seen the property. It is in charge of an agent—a real estate man. Every month he sends me the money received for rent, and, for several years I have put your share away, at interest in a bank."

"Then I have some money saved up, and did not know it."

"That is right, and it is quite a sum. But, of late, the rents have been falling off, until they are only about half what they were when your mother owned the property."

"Why is this?"

"The agent says it is because the property has gone down in value, but I can not see how that is, as it is in a good part of New York, and that city is certainly not getting smaller."

"How do you account for the rents being less, then?"

"That is just the point. I can't account for it, and, to tell you the truth, I am suspicious of this real estate man."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Caleb Annister."

"What do you propose doing, dad? Can't you get a lawyer to see him, and find out if he is cheating you?"

"I suppose I could, but I have thought of a different plan. It came to me when I was lying sick here, and I decided to put it into operation, so as to straighten out my affairs as well as your own."

"What's your plan, dad?"

"I am going to send you to New York, to look up this property and the matter of rents, and see whether or not Caleb Annister is telling the truth, when he says that the value has gone down. Roy, I want you to act as my agent, and start for New York at once!"

CHAPTER III

A FAREWELL RIDE

His father's announcement rather startled Roy. He had never thought much of business, outside of that connected with the ranch, and now the idea of endeavoring to ascertain the value of property, and whether the agent of it was doing his duty, came as a sort of shock. But, more than this, was the idea of going to a big city.

In all his life, as far as he could remember, Roy had never been in any town of more than five thousand inhabitants. He had never, so far as he knew, taken more than a short ride in a railroad train. I say as far as he knew, for he had been born in Chicago, but when he was an infant, his parents had gone out west, so while it was true that he had lived in a big city, and had made quite a railroad journey, he knew nothing about it, except what his father had told him.

"You want me to go to New York, dad?" he repeated, wondering if he had heard aright.

"That's it. I want you to find out just exactly what Caleb Annister is doing."

"But, I have had no experience in those lines."

"I know you have not, but I think you can do what I want. All it needs is brains and common sense, and you have both."

"But I have never been in a big city."

"No, not since you were old enough to notice anything, but that need not worry you. If I told you to go back to where the boys were rounding-up the cattle, you could do it; couldn't you?"

"Sure."

"Well, if you can find your way over the trackless plains I guess you can manage to get along in a big city, even if it is New York. All you have to do is to ask when you don't understand. I guess if some of those city boys came out here, they'd get lost a good deal quicker than you will in the streets of New York. Now you had better get ready to start. I'll draw up some papers, and get some instructions ready for you. I think Annister is trying to swindle you and me out of this property. If I was well enough I would go myself, but, as it is, I shall send you."

"Do you think you are well enough for me to leave you?" asked Roy anxiously.

"Oh, yes, there is nothing serious the matter with me. I shall have to be careful of what I eat, that's all, and if I went to New York I'd probably be worse off than I am here, for I would want to try all sorts of new dishes, and my dyspepsia would be very bad."

"Very well, dad. I'll get ready at once. It sure will be a new experience for me. I'll round-up this Caleb Annister for you, rope him and put the branding iron on, if I find he's trying to get any of our mavericks into his herd."

"That's the way to talk!" exclaimed Mr. Bradner. "You're a regular westerner, Roy. Don't let the ways of city folks bother you. Do the best you know how, be polite to the ladies, respectful to the men, and don't let 'em bluff you! Stick up for your rights, and don't be afraid of anybody. They may try to stampede you in New York, but you keep your head, and you'll come out all right."

"I'll try, dad. When do you want me to start?"

"To-morrow, if you can. The boys will be in from the round-up then."

That day Roy spent in getting his clothes packed in a big valise and a trunk. It was decided he should ride to the nearest railroad station, and there take a train for Chicago, where he would have to change cars for New York.

In the meanwhile Mr. Bradner drew up a paper giving his son the right to act in a certain capacity. This was put into legal form, and witnessed, a near-by notary being called in to attach his seal.

"Of course I don't know exactly how you will find the lay of the land there in New York," said Mr. Bradner that night, "as I have never been there. Nor do I know this Caleb Annister. I have had considerable correspondence with him, and I take him to be a sharp business man. He may try to bluff you, but don't you stand for it. It might be a good plan to size him up first, before you tell him who you are."

"That's what I'll do, dad."

"You'll have to make your own plans when you get there," went on his father. "You may have to spend considerable money, so I'll give you a good sum in cash, and a draft on my New York bankers. If you get in a hole do the best you can, and telegraph me if you need help. Just camp on the trail of this Caleb Annister, and see what his game is. It doesn't stand to reason that property in New York is shrinking in value. I think there is something wrong somewhere, and I depend on you to find it."

"I hope I won't disappoint you, dad."

"I don't believe you will, Roy. Now you had better get to bed, for it's quite late, and you'll have a hard journey ahead of you."

Roy did not feel a bit tired, for he was hardy and strong, but he did as his father suggested. He could not get to sleep at first thinking of his prospective trip, for he had always wanted to go to a big city, and now he had the chance.

Billy Carew and the other cowboys came in the next morning with the steers, which were turned into a corral for branding purposes. Roy told his friends of his journey.

"Prancing prairie dogs!" exclaimed Billy. "I wish I was going. Lickity thunder, but that's a great trip, clear to New York!"

"We'll ride to the station with you," proposed Bruce Arkdell. "We'll give you a good send off!"

"That's what we will!" chorused the others.

Roy was to start soon after dinner, as the Chicago express would not stop at the railroad station of Painted Stone unless it was flagged.

A little later a strange procession left the ranch house. Roy and Billy Carew rode at the head, and all the cowboys who could be spared followed after. Roy's trunk and valises were strapped on the back of a pack mule.

Mr. Bradner, who was not quite well enough to stand the trip to the station, bade his son an affectionate good-bye, and wished him all success.

"Telegraph if you get into trouble," he said.

"Yes, and we'll all hot-foot it to the burg of New York, and shoot-up the town!" exclaimed Billy. "We'll show 'em how a boy from the ranch can be took care of!"

"I guess there'll be no need of that," remarked Roy with a smile.

It was several miles to the railroad station, and, on the way the cowboys rushed their ponies here and there, indulging in all sorts of antics, for they regarded it as a sort of a holiday, though they liked Roy, and were sorry to see him leave.

"Now boys! Give him a grand salute!" proposed Bruce, when they came in sight of the station.

The cowboys drew their revolvers, aimed them into the air, and fired them off as fast as they could pull their triggers. It sounded as though a small battle was in progress.

"Give him a yell!" suggested Smoke Tardell, and the ranchers shouted like wild Indians.

"Here comes the train!" called Billy Carew, as a whistle was heard, and, down the long line of glistening rails, the smoke of a locomotive was seen. The station agent went out to flag the express.

"Take care of yourself," advised Bruce.

"Bring me back a slice of New York," requested Smoke. "I want it well done."

"Be careful you don't get 'well-done', Roy," advised Billy Carew. "Don't buy any gold bricks, or Confederate money, and take care, Roy, that them sharpers don't git ye!"

He waved his big sombrero, an example followed by all the other cowboys, as Roy climbed aboard the express. His trunk and valises were tumbled into the baggage car, the engineer blew two short blasts, and the train was off again, bearing Roy to New York.

His last view was of his father's cowboys, waving a farewell to him with their big hats, while some fired their revolvers, and others yelled at the top of their lungs.

"I wonder when I'll see them again," thought Roy. "I sort of hate to leave the old ranch, but I'm glad I'm going to New York."

He did not know all that was before him, nor what was to happen before he again saw his friends, the cowboys.