"Besides, many of the finest mustangs in the country run wild and
will never be caught. Daddy likes to have his herds crossed with
that wild blood. It makes the colts more vigorous and handsomer.
Oh, I just wish you girls could see some of the wild stallions. But
they seldom come down with the herds to the rodeo. They go back
into the wilder hills with the scrubs that the boys don't care to
drive in.

"About this time of year the several bands belonging to Rose Ranch
and our neighbors are driven down to the lowlands. The mares and
yearlings are already branded, of course; so the various owners cut
out their own animals, and the young colts, of course, run with
their mothers.

"Each ranch outfit knows its own colts and brands accordingly. We
call it a round-up. 'Rodeo' is Mexican for it. We drive them into
the branding pens and mark the colts. Then we cut out the horses
that are needed on the ranch, or to train for sale, and let the
others drift again."

"And do all the poor horses have to be burned?" murmured Grace,
with a shudder.

"And our cattle, too. How else would we know them from other
people's cattle?" demanded Rhoda. "It's nowhere near so horrid as
it sounds. The smart is soon over. And, really, how else could we
tell the creatures apart?"

"Goodness! don't ask _me_" said Grace. "I am not in the cattle
business."