The posse, however, was at that moment having troubles of its own.  Happy Jack, not having a night horse saddled, had borrowed one not remarkable for its sure-footedness.  No sooner had they sighted their quarry than Jack’s horse stepped in a hole and went head-long—­which was bad enough.  When he got up he planted a foot hastily on Jack’s diaphragm and then bolted straight for the peacefully slumbering herd—­which was worse.

With stirrup-straps snapping like pistol-shots, he tore down through the dreaming cattle, with none to stop him or say him nay.  The herd did not wait for explanations; as the posse afterward said, it quit the earth, while they gathered around the fallen Jack and tried to discover if it was a doctor or coroner that was needed.

When Jack came up sputtering sand and profane words, there was no herd, no horse and no Pink anywhere in that portion of Chouteau County.  Weary came back, laughing at the joke and fully expecting to see Pink a prisoner.  When he saw how things stood, he said “Mamma mine!” and headed for camp on a run.  The others deployed to search the range for a beef-herd, strayed, and with no tag for its prompt delivery.

Weary crept into the bed-tent and got Chip by the shoulder.  Chip sat up, instantly wide-awake.  “What’s the matter?” he demanded sharply.

“Chip, we—­we’ve lost Cadwolloper!” Weary’s voice was tragic.

“Hell!” snapped Chip, lying down again.  “Don’t let that worry yuh.”

“And we’ve lost the herd, too,” added Weary mildly.

Chip got up and stayed up, and some of his remarks, Weary afterward reported, were scandalous.

There was another scene at sunrise that the Happy Family voted scandalous—­and that was when they rode into a little coulee and came upon the herd, quietly grazing, and Pink holding them, with each blue eye a volcano shooting wrath.

“Yuh knock-kneed bunch uh locoed sheep-herders!” he greeted spitefully, “if yuh think yuh can saw off on your foolery and hold this herd, I’ll go and get something to eat.  When I come to this outfit t’ work, I naturally s’posed yuh was cow-punchers.  Yuh ain’t.  Yuh couldn’t hold a bunch uh sick lambs inside a high board corral with the gate shut and locked on the outside.  When it comes t’ cow-science, you’re the limit.  Yuh couldn’t earn your board on a ten-acre farm in Maine, driving one milk-cow and a yearling calf t’ pasture and back.  You’re a hot bunch uh rannies—­I don’t think!  Up on Milk River they’d put bells on every dam’ one uh yuh t’ keep yuh from getting lost going from the mess-house t’ the corral and back.  And, Mr. Weary, next time yuh give a man a horse t’ fall off from, for the Lord’s sake don’t put him on a gentle old skate that would be pickings for a two-year-old kid.  I thought this here Glory’d give a man something to do, from all the yawping I’ve heard done about him.  I heard uh him when I was on the Cross L; and I will say right now that he’s the biggest disappointment I’ve met up with in many a long day.  He’s punk.  Come and get him and let me have something alive.  I’m weary uh trying to delude myself into thinking that this red image is a horse.”