“The main Beaver forks only a few miles above Hackberry Grove,” suggested Dell.

“Then we’ll ride out the south fork to-day and come back through the sand hills.  There must be some sheltered nooks in that range of dunes.”

That the morning hour has gold in its mouth, an unknown maxim at the new ranch, mattered nothing.  The young cowmen were up and away with the rising sun, riding among and counting the different bunches of cattle encountered, noting the cripples, and letting no details of the conditions of the herd, in their leisurely course up the creek, escape their vigilance.

The cattle tallied out to an animal, and were left undisturbed on their chosen range.  Two hours’ ride brought the boys to the forks of the Beaver, and by the middle of the forenoon the south branch of the creek was traced to its source among the sand dunes.  If not inviting, the section proved interesting, with its scraggy plum brush, its unnumbered hills, and its many depressions, scalloped out of the sandy soil by the action of winds.  Coveys of wild quail were encountered, prairie chicken took wing on every hand, and near the noon hour a monster gray wolf arose from a sunny siesta on the summit of a near-by dune, and sniffed the air in search of the cause of disturbance.  Unseen, the boys reined in their horses, a windward breeze favored the view for a moment, when ten nearly full-grown cubs also arose and joined their mother in scenting the horsemen.  It was a rare glimpse of wary beasts, and like a flash of light, once the human scent was detected, mother and whelps skulked and were lost to sight in an instant.

“They’re an enemy of cattle,” whispered Joel when the cubs appeared.  “The young ones are not old enough yet to hunt alone, and are still following their mother.  Their lair is in these hills, and if this proves a cold winter, hunger will make them attack our cattle before spring.  We may have more than storms to fight.  There they go.”

“How are we to fight them?” timidly asked Dell.  “We have neither dog nor gun.”

“Mr. Paul will know,” replied Joel with confidence.  “They’ll not bother us while they can get food elsewhere.”

The shelter of a wolf-pack’s lair was not an encouraging winter refuge to drifting cattle.  The boys even shook out their horses for a short gallop in leaving the sand dunes, and breathed easier once the open of the plain was reached.  Following a low watershed, the brothers made a wide detour from the Beaver, but on coming opposite the homestead, near the middle of the afternoon, they turned and rode directly for the ranch, where a welcome surprise greeted them.

Four men were at work on the branding chute.  A single glance revealed both Priest and Forrest among the quartette.  On riding up to the stable corral, in the rough reception which followed, the lads were fairly dragged from their saddles amid hearty greetings.  “Well, here we are again, and as busy as cranberry merchants,” said Priest, once order was restored.