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.