Dead_or_Alive

Right now, after competing in the big rodeo at Amarillo, Hoppy

and California are headed back toward their home spread, the old Bar 20.

With two more days of riding ahead of them, the country becomes wilder and more desolate with each passing mile.

But their hearts are light and their spirits gay, for Hoppy has won most of the roping and riding events, and there's folding money in their belts and silver in their jeans.

Hoppy, when them wardies

back in the bar 20 hear about that new bulldogging record you set, there'll be a hot time in the old town that night.

Hey, what do you pull up

for, Hoppy? Looks like another group of rounders crossed the trail here.

Look at those footprints, California.

Made by the reason, too.

Yes.

A bunch of them.

Maybe a dozen.

More than that.

Looks like the same bunch who's carried across some miles back when we hit the foothills.

Probably some one of

those rounding up strays.

You know better than that.

You don't ride bunched up like this looking for strays.

All right, let's go.

Those riders must be looking for something, but not cattle.

Well, I guess we'll just town a red dog before sundown.

We'll bed down for the night then.

You shoot me.

I never crossed this range myself.