d frying pan. So long as we hold
the cattle, who cares for expense."

The herd was in hand as it left the bed ground. An ideal spring day lent
its aid to the snailing cattle. By the middle of the afternoon the
watershed had been crossed, and the gradual slope clown to the Beaver
was begun. Rowdy forged to the lead, the flanks turned in, the rear
pushed forward, and the home-hunger of the herd found expression in loud
and continued lowing.

"I must have been mistaken about the spirit of this herd being killed,"
observed Dell. "When I left you the other day, to go after a pack horse,
these cattle looked dead on their feet. I felt sure that we would lose a
hundred head, and we haven't lost a hoof."

"We may have a lot to learn yet about cattle," admitted Joel. "I fully
expected to see our back track strung with dead animals."

The origin of the herd, with its deeps and moods, is unknown and
unwritten. The domesticity of cattle is dateless. As to when the ox
first knew his master's crib, history and tradition are dumb. Little
wonder that Joel and Dell Wells, with less than a year's experience,
failed to fully understand their herd. An incident, similar to the one
which provoked the observation of the brothers, may explain those placid
depths, the deep tenacity and latent power of the herd.

After delivering its cargo at an army post, an extensive freighting
outfit was returning to the supply point. Twelve hundred oxen were
employed. On the outward trip, muddy roads were encountered, the wagons
were loaded beyond the strength of the teams, and the oxen had arrived
at the fort exhausted, spiritless, and faint to falling under their
yokes. Many oxen had been abandoned as useless within one hundred miles
of the post, thus doubling the work on the others. On the return trip,
these scattered oxen, the lame and halt, were gathered to the number of
several hundred, and were being driven along at the rear of the wagon
train. Each day added to their numbers, until one fourth of all the oxen
were being driven loose at the rear of the caravan. One day a boy
blindfolded a cripple ox, which took fright and charged among his
fellows, bellowing with fear. It was tinder to powder! The loose oxen
broke from the herders, tore past the column of wagons, frenzied in
voice and action. The drivers lost control of their teams, bedlam
reigned, and the entire wagon train joined in the general stampede.
Wagons were overturned and reduced to kind