ter keep an eye on it
for fear it goes out like a lion. You can go to the railroad in April."

There was wisdom in Joel's random advice. As yet there was no response
in the earth to the sun's warmth. The grass was timid and refused to
come forth, and only a few foolish crows had reached the shrub and
willow along the Beaver, while the absence of other signs of spring
carried a warning that the wintry elements might yet arise and roar
like a young lion.

The one advantage of the passing days was the general improvement in the
herd. The instinct of the cattle led them to the buffalo grass, which
grew on the slopes and divides, and with three weeks of fair weather and
full freedom the herd as a whole rounded into form, reflecting its
tenacity of life and the able handling of its owners.

Within ten days of the close of the month, the weakened lines of
intrenchment were again assaulted. The herd was grazing westward, along
the first divide south of the Beaver, when a squall struck near the
middle of the afternoon. It came without warning, and found the cattle
scattered to the limits of loose herding, but under the eyes of two
alert horsemen. Their mounts responded to the task, circling the herd on
different sides, but before it could be thrown into mobile form and
pointed into the Beaver valley, a swirl of soft snow enveloped horses
and riders, cattle and landscape. The herd turned its back to the storm,
and took up the steady, sullen march of a winter drift. Cut off from the
corral by fully five miles, the emergency of the hour must be met, and
the brothers rode to dispute the progress of the drifting cattle.

"Where can we turn them?" timidly inquired Dell.

"Unless the range of sand dunes catch us," replied Joel, "nothing short
of the brakes of the Prairie Dog will check the cattle. We're out until
this storm spends its force."

"Let's beat for the sand hills, then. They lay to our right, and the
wolves are gone."

"The storm is from the northwest. If it holds from that quarter, we'll
miss the sand dunes by several miles. Then it becomes a question of
horseflesh."

"If we miss the sand hills, I'll go back and get a pack horse and
overtake you to-morrow. It isn't cold, and Dog-toe can face the storm."

"That's our one hope," admitted Joel. "We've brought these cattle
through a hard winter and now we mustn't lose them in a spring squall."

The wind blew a gale. Ten minutes after the storm struck and the cattle