“Comanche.”

“And when did you leave Dodge?”

“Just ten days ago.”

“Then you need no range—­your cattle are sold,” said Priest, handing the older man a telegram.

The two scanned the message carefully, and the trail foreman continued:  “This year my herd was driven to fill a sub-contract, and we delivered it last week at old Camp Clark, on the North Platte.  From there the main contractor will trail the beef herd up to the Yellowstone.  Old man Don was present at the delivery, and when I got back to Ogalalla with the oufit, that message was awaiting me.  I’m now on my way to Dodge to receive the cattle.  They go to the old man’s beef ranch on the Little Missouri.  It says three thousand Comanche County two-year-olds, don’t it?”

“It’s our cattle,” said the son to his father.  “We have the only straight herd of Comanche County two-year-olds at Dodge City.  That commission man said he would sell them before we got back.”

The elder Texan turned to the boys with a smile.  “I reckon we’ll have to declare all negotiations off regarding this range.  I had several good offers to make you, and I’m really sorry at this turn of events.  I had figured out a leasing plan, whereby the rentals of this range would give you boys a fine schooling, and revert to you on the eldest attaining his majority.  We could have pooled our cattle, and your interests would have been carried free.”

“You needn’t worry about these boys,” remarked Priest, with an air of interest; “they have silent partners.  As to schooling, I’ve known some mighty good men who never punched the eyes out of the owl in their old McGuffy spelling-book.”

A distant cry of dinner was wafted up the creek.  “That’s a welcome call,” said Priest, arising.  “Come on, everybody.  My cook has orders to tear his shirt in getting up a big dinner.”

A short walk led to the camp.  “This outfit looks good to me,” said the elder cowman to Priest, “and you can count on my company to the railroad.”

“You’re just the man I’m looking for,” replied the trail boss.  “We’re making forty miles a day, and you can have charge until we reach Dodge.”

“But I only volunteered as far as the railroad,” protested the genial Texan.

“Yes; but then I know you cowmen,” contended Priest.  “You have lived around a wagon so long and love cow horses so dearly, that you simply can’t quit my outfit to ride on a train.  Two o’clock is the hour for starting, and I’ll overtake you before evening.”

The outfit had been reduced to six men, the remainder having been excused and sent home from Ogalalla.  The remuda was in fine condition, four changes of mounts a day was the rule, and on the hour named, the cavalcade moved out, leaving its foreman behind.  “Angle across the plain and enter the trail on the divide, between here and the Prairie Dog,” suggested Priest to his men.  “We will want to touch here coming back, and the wagon track will point the way.  Mr. Allen will act as segundo.”