The trust of the boys, in their winter mounts, entitles the latter to a prominent place in the line of defense.  Rowdy, Joel’s favorite, was a veteran cow horse, dark brown in color, and, under the saddle, restless, with a knowledge of his work that bordered on the human.  Dell favored Dog-toe, a chestnut in color, whose best point was a perfect rein, and from experience in roping could halt from any gait on the space of a blanket.  The relay horse was named Coyote, a cinnamon-colored mount, Spanish marked in a black stripe down his back, whose limbs were triple-ringed above the knees, or where the body color merged with the black of his legs.  Their names had followed them from the trail, one of which was due to color marks, one to disposition, while that of Dell’s chestnut was easily traceable, from black marks in his hoofs quartering into toes.

The first storm struck near the middle of December.  It was preceded by an ideal day; like the promise of spring, a balmy south wind swept the range, while at night a halo encircled the moon.

“It will storm within three days,” said Dell, as the boys strolled up to the corral for a last look at the sleeping cattle.  “There are three stars inside the circle around the moon.  That’s one of Granny Metcalf’s signs.”

“Well, we’ll not depend on signs,” replied Joel.  “These old granny omens may be all right to hatch chickens by, but not to hold cattle.  All advice on that point seems to rely on corn-fed saddle horses and little sleep.”

The brothers spent the customary hour at the corral.  From the bluff bank which encircled the inclosure, the lads looked down on the contented herd, their possession and their promise; and the tie of man and his beast was accented anew in their youthful hearts.

“Mr. Paul was telling me on one of our rides,” said Joel, gazing down on the sleeping herd, “that we know nothing of the human race in an age so remote that it owned no cattle.  He says that when the pyramids of Egypt were being built, ours was then an ancient occupation.  I love to hear Mr. Paul talk about cattle.  Hark!”

The long howl of a wolf to the south was answered by a band to the westward, and echoed back from the north in a single voice, each apparently many miles distant.  Animal instinct is usually unerring, and the boys readily recalled the statement of the old trail foreman, that the howling of wolves was an omen of a forthcoming storm.

“Let it come,” said Joel, arising and starting homeward.  “We’ll meet it.  Our course to-morrow will be northwest.”

It came with little warning.  Near the middle of the following afternoon, a noticeable lull in the wind occurred, followed by a leaden horizon on the west and north.  The next breeze carried the icy breath of the northwest, and the cattle turned as a single animal.  The alert horsemen acted on the instant, and began throwing the cattle into a compact herd.  At the time they were fully three miles from the corral, and when less than halfway home, the storm broke in splendid fury.  A swirl of snow accompanied the gale, blinding the boys for an instant, but each lad held a point of the herd and the raging elements could be depended on to bring up the rear.