With hand extended, he smilingly inquired, “Don’t you remember the day we branded your cattle?  How did the Two Bars and the ——­ Y cows winter?”

“It’s Billy Honeyman,” said Dell, beaming.  “Who is that man across the herd, waving at us?” he inquired, amid hearty greeting.

“That’s Runt Pickett, the little fellow who helped us brand—­the lad who rushed the cattle.  The herd cuts him off from shaking hands.  Turn your horses the other way and tell me how you like it out West.”

Dell turned back, but Joel continued on.  The column of beeves was fully a mile in length.  After passing the drag end of the herd, the wagon and remuda were sighted, later met, with the foreman still at the rear.  The dust cloud of yet another herd arose in the distance, and while Joel pondered on its location over the divide, a horseman emerged from a dip in the plain and came toward him in a slow gallop.

“There’s no foreman with the next herd,” explained Priest, slacking his horse into a walk, “and the segundo wasn’t sure which swell was the real divide.  We trailed two herds past your ranch last summer, but the frost has mellowed up the soil and the grass has overgrown the paths until every trace is gone.  I planted a guide-post and marked it ’Lovell’s Trail,’ so the other foremen will know where to turn off.  All the old man’s herds are within three or four days’ drive, and after that it’s almost a solid column of cattle back to Dodge.  Forrest is in charge of the rear herd, and will pick up any of our abandoned cattle.”

The two shook out their mounts, passed the commissary and saddle stock, but halted a moment at the drag end of the herd.  “We’ve been dropping our cripples,” explained Priest, “but the other herds will bring them through.  There’s not over one or two here, but I’m going to saw off three horses on Wells Brothers.  Good ones, too, that is, good for next year.”

A halt was made at the lead of the herd, and some directions given the point man.  It was still early in the forenoon, and once man and boy had fairly cleared the leaders in front, a signal was given and the cattle turned as a single animal and fell to grazing.  The wagon and remuda never halted; on being joined by the two horsemen, they continued on into the Beaver.  Eleven o’clock was the hour named to water the herd, and punctual to the moment the beeves, with a mile-wide front, were grazed up to the creek.

The cattle were held around the pools for an hour.  Before dinner was over, the acting foreman of the second herd rode in, and in mimicking a trail boss, issued some drastic orders.  The second herd was within sight, refused to graze, and his wagon was pulling in below the ranch for the noon camp.

Priest looked at his watch.  “Start the herd,” said he to his own men.  “Hold a true northward course, and camp twelve miles out to-night.  I may not be with you, but water in the Republican at six o’clock to-morrow evening.  Bring in your herd, young fellow,” he concluded, addressing the segundo.