“A battle is sometimes lost by a very slight oversight or accident,” said the man to the boy.  “The ammunition may get damaged, slippery ground might prevent the placing of a battery at an opportune moment, or the casting of a horse’s shoe might delay a courier with an important order.  I feel an interest in your little ranch, and when I know that everything is done that can be done to fortify against the coming winter, I’ll go home feeling better.  There is such a thing as killing the spirit of a soldier, and if I were to let you boys try and fail, it would affect your courage to face the future.  That’s the reason I’ve dropped off to take a last look at your lines of intrenchment.  We’ve got to hold those cattle.”

“Mr. Quince thinks we won’t, but let the winter come as it may, we’re going to hold the herd,” simply said the boy.

There was a resolution, an earnestness, in the words of the lad that pleased the man.  “Your Mr. Quince has seen some cold winters on the range,” said the latter, “and that’s the reason he fears the worst.  But come as it will, if we do all in our power, put up the best fight in us, and fail, then we are blameless.  But with my experience, if I let you fail, when you might have won, then I have done you an injury.”

That was the platform on which men and boys stood, the outline on which their mutual venture must stand or fall, and admitted of no shirking on the part of any one.  The most minute detail, down to a change of clean saddle blankets, for winter work, must be fully understood.  The death of a horse in which reliance rested, at an unfortunate moment, might mean the loss of the herd, and a clean, warm blanket on a cold day was the merciful forethought of a man for his beast.  No damp, frosty, or frozen blanket must be used on the Wells ranch.

On the return trip, an early start was made.  A night camp was necessary, at the halfway point, the dread of which was robbed of its terrors by the presence of a veteran of the open.  Before leaving the depot, Priest unearthed a number of bundles, “little things that might come in handy,” among which was a sack of salt and two empty oak barrels.  The latter provoked an inquiry from Joel, and an explanation was forced at the moment.

“Did you notice a big steer that came in with the last cattle, and which was overlooked in branding?” inquired Priest, meeting the boy’s query with a question.

“A mottled beef, branded 7L?”

“That’s the steer.  Why do you reckon we overlooked branding him?”

“Dell and I thought it was an oversight.”

“When you see what I’m going to do with that salt and these barrels, then you’ll see that it was no neglect.  That steer has undergone several Northern winters, has reached his prime, and the governor’s cellar won’t have any better corn beef this winter than the Wells ranch.  Seven or eight hundred pounds of pickled beef is an important item in the winter intrenchments.  In fact, it’s an asset to any cow camp.  There are so many little things that may come in handy.”