“Yes,” answered Tom; “but I don’t think the moon will ever again see us in such a desperate fix as we were in that night.”

Which showed that Tom had not the gift of prophecy.

CHAPTER III

“Busting” a Broncho

The boys slept that night the dreamless sleep of wholesome fatigue and perfect health, and awoke the next morning as fresh as daisies.  Life is astir early on a ranch, and the day’s work had fairly begun when they came down to breakfast.  The smell of hot coffee and frying bacon had whetted their appetites, and they needed no urging from their hosts to do full justice to the ample meal that awaited them.  Then they hurried outdoors to make acquaintance with this new life that they had looked forward to so impatiently.

It was a glorious morning.  There was not a cloud in the sky and a light breeze tempered the heat of the sun.  At that high level it was seldom sultry, and the contrast to the heat of the sun-baked plains below was refreshing.  It amply justified, in the boys’ opinion, Mr. Melton’s wisdom in the choice of this airy plateau as a location for his home.

The mountains hemmed them in on the north, but on the west and east and south stretched grassy plains and rolling slopes as far as the eye could reach.  Great herds of cattle dotted the expanse, and here and there could be seen a mounted cowboy, winding in and out among the stock.  Dark lines at short intervals marked the course of artificial canals, that were fed by a series of pipes from brooks back in the mountains.  There was an inexhaustible supply of sparkling water, and it was evident that the fortunate owner of this ranch was forever secure against drought—­that scourge of the Western plains.

“It must have cost a mint of money to do all that piping and digging,” suggested Bert as his eyes took in the vast extent of the operations.

“Yes, a good many thousands,” assented his host, “but it pays to do things right.  I’ve already got back a good many times over all that it cost.  A single hot barren summer would destroy thousands of head of cattle, to say nothing of the suffering of the poor brutes.  And those that didn’t die would be so worn to skin and bone that they’d hardly pay the expense of shipping them to market.  The only way to make money in ranching nowadays is to do things on a big scale and take advantage of all up-to-date ideas.

“A good many people,” he went on, “have an idea that if a man has a good ranch and a few thousand head of stock he’s found a short and easy way to riches.  That doesn’t follow at all.  There are just as many chances, just as many ups and downs as in any other business.  I know lots of men that once were prosperous ranchers who to-day are down and out, and that too through no fault of their own.  Sometimes it’s a disease that comes along and sweeps away half of your herd at a single stroke.  The drought gets them in summer