“Before I take a claim,” said Tom Roll, “I’ll go to Minnesota and peon myself to some Swede farmer for my keep the balance of my life.  Making hay and plowing fire guards the last few years have given me all the taste of farming that I want.  I’m going to Montana in the spring.”

“Why don’t you go this winter?  Is your underwear too light?” asked Ace Gee.  “Now, I’m going to make a farewell play,” continued Ace.  “I’m going to take a claim, and before I file on it, sell my rights, go back to old Van Zandt County, Texas, this winter, rear up my feet, and tell it to them scarey.  That’s where all my folks live.”

“Well, for a winter’s stake,” chimed in Joe Box, “Ace’s scheme is all right.  We can get five hundred dollars out of a claim for simply staking it, and we know some good ones.  That sized roll ought to winter a man with modest tastes.”

“You didn’t know that I just came from Montana, did you, Tom?” asked Ace.  “I can tell you more about that country than you want to know.  I’ve been up the trail this year; delivered our cattle on the Yellowstone, where the outfit I worked for has a northern range.  When I remember this summer’s work, I sometimes think that I will burn my saddle and never turn or look a cow in the face again, nor ride anything but a plow mule and that bareback.

“The people I was working for have a range in Tom Green County, Texas, and another one in Montana.  They send their young steers north to mature—­good idea, too!—­but they are not cowmen like the ones we know.  They made their money in the East in a patent medicine—­got scads of it, too.  But that’s no argument that they know anything about a cow.  They have a board of directors—­it is one of those cattle companies.  Looks like they started in the cattle business to give their income a healthy outlet from the medicine branch.  They operate on similar principles as those soap factory people did here in the Strip a few years ago.  About the time they learn the business they go broke and retire.

“Our boss this summer was some relation to the wife of some of the medicine people Down East.  As they had no use for him back there, they sent him out to the ranch, where he would be useful.

“We started north with the grass.  Had thirty-three hundred head of twos and threes, with a fair string of saddle stock.  They run the same brand on both ranges—­the broken arrow.  You never saw a cow-boss have so much trouble; a married woman wasn’t a circumstance to him, fretting and sweating continually.  This was his first trip over the trail, but the boys were a big improvement on the boss, as we had a good outfit of men along.  My idea of a good cow-boss is a man that doesn’t boss any; just hires a first-class outfit of men, and then there is no bossing to do.