“That’s why I love cattle,” said Manly to Dell, while riding the range; “they never disappoint.  Cattle endure time and season, with a hardiness that no other animal possesses.  Given a chance, they repay every debt.  Why, one shipment from these Stoddard cattle will almost wipe the slate.  Uncle Dudley thought this was a fool deal, but Mr. Lovell seemed so bent on making it that my old man simply gave in.  And now you’re going to make a fortune out of these Lazy H’s.  No wonder us fool Texans love a cow.”

The absent ones returned promptly.  “The Beaver valley not only topped the market for range cattle,” loftily said Sargent, “but topped it in price and weight.  The beeves barely netted fifty-two dollars a head!”

Early shipments were urged from every quarter.  “Hereafter,” said Joel, “the commission firm will order the trains and send us a practical shipper.  There may rise a situation that we may have to rush our shipments, and we can’t spare men to go to market.  It pays to be on time.  Those commission men are wide awake.  Look at these railroad passes, good for the year, that they secured for us boys.  If any one has to go to market, we can take a passenger train, and leave the cattle to follow.”

The addition of two men to the shipping outfit was a welcome asset.  The first consignment from the ranch gave the men a field-trial, and now that the actual shipping season was at hand, an allotment of horses was made.  The numbers of the remuda admitted of mounting every man to the limit, and with their first shipment a success, the men rested impatiently awaiting orders.

The commission firm, with its wide knowledge of range and market conditions, was constantly alert.  The second order, of ten days’ later date, was a duplicate of the first, with one less for fulfillment.  The outfit dropped down to the old trail crossing the evening before, and by noon two round-ups had yielded twenty car-loads of straight Lazy H beeves.  When trimmed to their required numbers, twenty-two to the car, they reflected credit to breeder and present owner.

In grazing down to the railroad, every hour counted.  There was no apparent rush, but an hour saved at noon, an equal economy at evening and morning, brought the herd within summons of the shipping yards on time.  That the beeves might be favored, they were held outside for the night, three miles from the corral, but an early sun found them safely inside the shipping pens.  Two hours later, the full train was en route to market, in care of a practical shipper.

On yarding the beeves the customary telegram had been sent to the commission firm.  No reply was expected, but within half an hour after the train left, a message, asking Joel to accompany the shipment, was received from Mr. Stoddard.

“You must go,” said Manly, scanning the telegram.  “It isn’t the last cattle that he sold you that’s worrying my boss.  He has two herds on the market this year, one at Trail City and the other at Ogalalla, and he may have his eye on you as a possible buyer.  You have a pass; you can catch the eastern mail at noon, and overtake the cattle train in time to see the beeves unloaded.”