“The calf?  Sure.  How else would I carry it?” Cal’s big, baby-blue eyes matched Pink’s for innocence.  “I carried that bossy in my arms for three days,” he declared solemnly, “before I found a cow with white hind feet, one white ear, and the deuce uh—­er—­clubs——­”

“Diamonds” corrected Pink, drinking in each word greedily.

“That’s it:  diamonds, on its right hind—­er—­shoulders——­”

“The calf’s was on its left side,” reminded Pink reproachfully.  “I don’t believe you found the right mother, after all!”

“Yeah, I sure did, all right,” contended Cal earnestly.  “I know, ’cause she was that grateful, when she seen me heave in sight over a hill a mile away, she come up on the gallop, a-bawling, and—­er—­licked my hand!”

That settled it, of course.  Pink dismounted stiffly and walked painfully to the cook-tent.  Ten months out of saddle—­with a new, unbroken one to begin on again—­told, even upon Pink, and made for extreme discomfort.

When he had eaten, hungrily and in silence, responding to the mildly ironical sociability of his fellows with a brevity which only his soft voice saved from bruskness, he unrolled his new bed and lay down with not a thought for the part he was playing.  He heard with absolute indifference Weary’s remark outside, that “Cadwolloper’s about all in; day-herding’s too strenuous for him.”  The last that came to him, some one was chanting relishfully: 

  Mamma had a precious lamby his cheeks were red and rosy;
  And when he rode the festive bronk, he tumbled on his nosey.

There was more; but Pink had gone to sleep, and so missed it.

At sundown he awoke and went out to saddle the night horse Chip had caught for him, and then went to bed again.  When shaken gently for middle guard, he dressed sleepily, added a pair of white Angora chaps to his afternoon attire, and stumbled out into the murky moonlight.

Guided and coached by Cal, he took his station and began that monotonous round which had been a part of the life he loved best.  Though stiff and sore from unaccustomed riding, Pink felt quite content to be where he was; to watch the quiet land and the peaceful, slumbering herd; with the drifting gray clouds above, and the moon swimming, head under, in their midst.  Twice in a complete round he met Cal, going in opposite direction.  At the second round Cal stopped him.

“How yuh coming?” he queried cheerfully.

“All right, thank you,” said Pink.

“Yuh want to watch out for a lop-horned critter over on the other side,” Cal went on, in confidential tone.  “He keeps trying to sneak out uh the bunch.  Don’t let him get away; if he goes, take after him and fog him back.”

“He won’t get away from me, if I can help it,” Pink promised, and Cal rode on, with Pink smiling maliciously after him.

As he neared the opposite side, a dim shape angled slowly out before him, moving aimlessly away from the sleeping herd.  Pink followed.  Farther they went, and faster.  Into a little hollow went the “critter”, and circled.  Pink took down his rope, let loose a good ten feet of it, and spurred unexpectedly close to it.