“Some one must be lost,” suggested Joel.  “He’s down the creek.”

“Lost your grandmother!” exclaimed Forrest.  “We’re all lost in this country.  Here, fire this six-shooter in the air, and follow it up with a Comanche yell.  Dell, build a little fire on the nearest knoll.  It’s more than likely some trail man hunting this camp.”

The signal-fire was soon burning.  The only answer vouchsafed was some fifteen minutes later, when the clatter of an approaching horse was distinctly heard.  A lantern shone through the tent walls, and the prompt hail of the horseman proved him no stranger.  “Is Quince Forrest here?” he inquired, as his horse shied at the tent.

“He is.  Come in, Dorg,” said Forrest, recognizing by his voice the horseman without to be Dorg Seay, one of Don Lovell’s foremen.  “Come in and let us feast our eyes on your handsome face.”

Seay peeped within and timidly entered.  “Well,” said he, pulling at a straggling mustache, “evidently it isn’t as bad as reported.  Priest wrote back to old man Don that you had attempted suicide—­unfortunate in love was the reason given—­and I have orders to inquire into your health or scatter flowers on your grave.  Able to sit up and take notice?—­no complications, I hope?”

“When did you leave Dodge?” inquired Forrest, ignoring Seay’s persiflage.

“About a week ago.  A telegram was waiting me on the railroad, and I rode through this afternoon.  If this ranch boasts anything to eat, now would be an awful nice time to mention it.”

Seay’s wants were looked after.

“How many herds between here and the railroad?” inquired Forrest, resuming the conversation.

“Only one ahead of mine.  In fact, I’m foreman of both herds—­live with the lead one and occasionally go back and see my own.  It all depends on who feeds best.”

“And when will your herd reach the Beaver?” continued Forrest.

“I left orders to water my lead herd in the Beaver at three o’clock to-morrow, and my own dear cattle will be at their heels.  My outfit acts as rear-guard to Blocker’s herd.”

These men, in the employ of the same drover, had not seen each other in months, and a fire of questions followed, and were answered.  The chronicle of the long drive, of accident by flood and field, led up to the prospects for a northern demand for cattle.

“The market has barely opened in Dodge,” said Seay, in reply to a question.  “Unless the herds are sold or contracted, very few will leave Dodge for the Platte River before the first of July.  Old man Don isn’t driving a hoof that isn’t placed, so all his herds will pass Ogalalla before the first of the month.  The bulk of the drive going north of the Platte will come next month.  With the exception of scattering herds, the first of August will end the drive.”

The men talked far into the night.  When they were left alone in the tent, Forrest unfolded his plans for starting the boys in life.