Chapter 3 – Boone Proves His Worth
The sun was barely up when Jake Harmon swung into the saddle beside Old Man Caldwell. Morning light spilled across the valley, cool and gold, and the air carried that sharp, mixed scent of sage and dust. Somewhere out beyond the low swells, cattle bawled lazily to one another. Boone, the shaggy mutt, trotted ahead with his tail swinging easy and his ears pitched forward, ready for whatever the day might bring.
They headed for the west pasture to check a scattered bunch. The herd lay quiet in the pale light—cows grazing slow, calves tucked close, the grass whispering around their legs. Boone moved in wide, patient circles, keeping watch without stirring trouble.
“That dog’s got a nose for business,” Caldwell muttered, squinting toward him.
Jake smiled. “He’s been good company so far.”
They followed the fence line where wind and weather had worked it hard. Now and again Boone stopped to sniff, the muscles under his rough coat twitching as he caught some scent on the air.
Then, sudden as a gunshot, he froze. Ears forward. A low growl rolled from his throat, and before Jake could speak, Boone bolted toward a line of cottonwoods along the river. His bark cut the sound of the rapids like a whip crack.
Caldwell reined up hard. “Confound it, Harmon! I’ll not have a dog that goes off chasin’ rabbits. Leave him be—he’ll learn soon enough.”
Jake leaned in the stirrups, eyes following the streak of motion. “That ain’t no rabbit bark, boss. I’ll take a look.”
“You go on,” Caldwell said, shaking his head. “I’ll not chase after a fool dog.”
Jake spurred ahead. The barking grew sharper, urgent. His gut told him Boone had the right of it.
The cottonwoods threw long shadows over the creekbank. Boone stood stiff-legged at the edge, teeth bared, barking at a tangle of brush near the riverbank.
Jake swung down and looped his reins over a branch. “Easy, boy… I’m right here.”
Something shifted in the shadows. Then came the low rasp of a curse. Jake’s eyes narrowed. Two men crouched in the brush, clothes dusty, hats pulled low. A Winchester leaned against a nearby trunk, and two saddle horses stood hobbled too far off for comfort.
Jake’s hand dropped to the butt of his Colt. “Mornin’, gents,” he said evenly. “Fine day to be hidin’ in the willows, ain’t it?”
One of the men straightened slow. “Ain’t hidin’,” he said. “Just takin’ a rest.”
Jake stepped closer, Boone gliding at his heel with a low growl. “Funny place to rest—awful near a herd that don’t belong to you.”
The second man swore. “Let’s just go, Pete. I ain’t gonna hang for doin’ nothin’.”
Jake’s tone hardened. “You’ll walk out quiet and easy. We’ll have a word with Caldwell before you head anywhere else.”
Boone shifted behind them, cutting off their retreat. The men hesitated, then shuffled forward with their hands in sight.
Caldwell rode up just then, face like carved oak. “Well, Harmon,” he said dryly, “looks like your dog ain’t much for chasin’ rabbits after all.”
Jake nodded toward the rustlers. “Found ’em where I saw two drifters yesterday. Boone figured we’d best check.”
Caldwell’s eyes were cold and sharp. “You’ll ride into town with us,” he told the men. “Sheriff can sort this out. Jake, tie their hands. Boone’ll keep the horses close—and I’ll see that my Winchester stays pointed the right direction.”
The rustlers thought about running, but Boone’s growl changed their minds.
Jake gathered the stolen rifles and mounts, then started for town—Boone trotting beside Jake’s stirrup, proud and alert, as if this was all part of his day’s work.
After the sheriff took the pair in, Caldwell turned his horse toward home. His voice softened with a rare smile. “Reckon I owe that dog an apology. He’s got more sense than some men I’ve hired.”
Jake chuckled. “Told you, boss. He’s more than a camp dog—he’s a cowdog.”
Boone wagged his tail, eyes shining in the afternoon sun. The herd was safe, the job done, and the ranch was a little better off than it had been that morning.
Caldwell tipped his hat. “Harmon, I’d say that dog’s earned his keep. Maybe even a seat at the supper table.”
Jake laughed. “Long as you don’t mind sharin’ your roast beef with him.”
Boone barked once—short, certain, and proud—and loped ahead toward the ranch house, tail waving like a victory flag in the dust.
Tip for English language learners: You can listen to the chapter audio while reading the story text on the page. Try slowing the playback speed so you can follow along comfortably by clicking on the three dots on the right by the speaker and selecting Playback speed.