“The chuck waggons of a thousand brands ain’t two days behind the boys, an’ by no time after that blizzard simmers, thar’s camp-fires burnin’ an’ blinkin’ between the Canadian an’ the Red all along from the Choctaw country as far west as the Panhandle.  Shore, every cow-puncher makes for the nearest smoke, feeds up an’ recooperates; and then he with the others begins the gatherin’ of the cattle an’ the slow northern drive of the return.  Which the spring overtakes ’em an’ passes ’em on it’s way to the no’th, an’ the grass is green an’ deep before ever they’re back on their ranges ag’in.

“It’s a great ride, says you?  Son, I once attends where a lecture sharp holds forth as to Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.  As was the proper thing I sets silent through them hardships.  But I could, it I’m disposed to become a disturbin’ element or goes out to cut loose cantankerous an’ dispootatious in another gent’s game, have showed him the French experiences that Moscow time is Sunday school excursions compared with these trips the boys makes when on the breath of that blizzard they swings south with their herds.  Them yooths, some of ’em, is over eight hundred miles from their home-ranch; an’ she’s the first an’ only time I ever meets up with a Yellowstone brand on the Canadian.

“You-all can put down a bet I’m no idle an’ listless looker-on that blizzard time; an’ I grows speshul active at the close.  It behooves us Red River gents of cattle to stir about.  The wild hard-ridin’ knight-errants of the rope an’ spur who cataracts themse’fs upon us with their driftin’ cattle doorin’ said tempest looks like they’re plenty cap’ble of drivin’ our steers no’th with their own, sort o’ makin’ up the deeficiencies of the storm.

“I brands over four thousand calves the spring before, which means I has at least twenty thousand head,—­or five times what I brands—­skallihootin’ an’ hybernatin’ about the ranges.  An’ bein’ as you-all notes some strong on cattle, an’ not allowin’ none for them Yellowstone adventurers to drive any of ’em no’th, I’ve got about ’leven outfits at work, overhaulin’ the herds an’ round-ups, an’ ridin’ round an’ through ’em, weedin’ out my brand an’ throwin’ ’em back on my Red River range.  I has to do it, or our visitin’ Yellowstone guests would have stole me pore as Job’s turkey.

“Whatever is a ‘outfit’ you asks?  It’s a range boss, a chuck waggon with four mules an’ a range cook, two hoss hustlers to hold the ponies, eight riders an’ a bunch of about seventy ponies—­say seven to a boy.  These yere ‘leven outfits I speaks of is scattered east an’ west mebby she’s a-hundred miles along the no’th fringe of my range, a-combin’ an’ a-searchin’ of the bunches an’ cuttin’ out all specimens of my brand when found.  For myse’f, personal, I’m cavortin’ about on the loose like, stoppin’ some nights at one camp’ an’ some nights at another, keepin’ cases on the deal.