A short canter brought the committee to the big bend.  The sand-bar was overgrown with weeds high as a man’s shoulder on horseback, but the leader, followed by the boys, forced his mount through the tangle until the bend was circled.  “It’s an ideal winter shelter,” said Priest, dismounting to step the entrance, as a preliminary measurement.  “A hundred and ten yards,” he announced, a few minutes later, “coon-skin measurement.  You’ll need twenty heavy posts and one hundred stays.  I’ll bring you a roll of wire.  That water’s everything; a thirsty cow chills easily.  Given a dry bed and contented stomach, in this corral your herd can laugh at any storm.  It’s almost ready made, and there’s nothing niggardly about its proportions.”

“When will we put the cattle under herd?” inquired Dell as the trio rode homeward.

“Oh, about the second snowstorm,” replied Priest.  “After squaw winter’s over, there’s usually a month to six weeks of Indian summer.  It might be as late as the first of December, but it’s a good idea to loose-herd awhile; ride around them evening and morning, corral them and leave the gates open, teach them to seek a dry, cosy bed, at least a month before putting the cattle under close-herd.  Teach them to drink in the corral, and then they’ll want to come home.  You boys will just about have to live with your little herd this winter.”

“We wintered here once,” modestly said Joel, “and I’m sure we can do it again.  The storms are the only thing to dread, and we can weather them.”

“Of course you can,” assured the trail boss.  “It’s a ground-hog case; it’s hold these cattle or the Indians will eat them for you.  Lost during one storm, and your herd is lost for good.”

“And about horses:  will one apiece be enough?” queried Joel.  “Mr. Quince thought two stabled ones would do the winter herding.”

“One corn-fed pony will do the work of four grass horses,” replied the cowman.  “Herding is no work for horses, provided you spare them.  If you must, miss your own dinner, but see that your horse gets his.  Dismount and strip the bridle off at every chance, and if you guard against getting caught out in storms, one horse apiece is all you need.”

On reaching the homestead, Priest shifted his saddle to a horse in waiting, and announced his regrets at being compelled to limit his visit.  “It may be two weeks before I return,” said he, leading his horse from the corral to the tent, “but we’ll point in here and lend a hand in shaping you up for winter.  Forrest is liable to have a herd of his own, and in that case, there will be two outfits of men.  More than likely, we’ll come through together.”

Hurried as he professed to be, the trail foreman pottered around as if time was worthless, but finally mounted.  “Now the commissary is provisioned,” said he, in summing up the situation, “to stand a winter’s siege, the forage is ample, the corral and branding chute is half done—­well, I reckon we’re the boys to hold a few cattle.  Honest Injun, I hope it will storm enough this winter to try you out; just to see what kind of thoroughbreds you really are.  And if any one else offers to buy an interest in this range,” he called back, as a happy afterthought, “just tell them that you have all the partners you need.”