e shipment would leave in the morning.
An early call at the station was rewarded by receipt of a wire from the
west. "Read that," said the foreman, handing the telegram to Joel;
"wants all three of us to come into the city."

"Of course," commented Joel, returning the message. "It's clear enough.
There's an understanding between us. At the earliest convenience, after
the delivery of the herd, we were to meet and draw up the final papers.
We'll all go in with this shipment."

"And send the outfits across country to Trail City?"

"Throw the remudas together and let them start the moment the cattle
train leaves. We can go back with Mr. Stoddard and meet the outfits at
the new trail market."

"That's the ticket," said the trail boss. "I'm dead tired of riding
horses and eating at a wagon. Give me the plush cushions and let me put
my little feet under a table once more."

The heavy cattle train was promised a special schedule. The outfits
received their orders, and at the usual hour in the morning, the
shipment started to market. Weathered brown as a saddle, Dell was
walking on clouds, lending a hand to the shipper in charge, riding on
the engine, or hungering for the rare stories with which the trail
foreman regaled the train crew. The day passed like a brief hour, the
train threading its way past corn fields, country homes, and scorning to
halt at the many straggling villages that dotted the route.

It was a red-letter day in the affairs of Wells Brothers. The present,
their fifth shipment of the year, a total of over nineteen hundred
beeves, was en route to market. Another day, and their operations in
cattle, from a humble beginning to the present hour, could be condensed
into a simple statement. The brothers could barely wait the intervening
hours, and when the train reached the market and they had retired for
the night, speculation ran rife in planning the future. And amid all
their dreams and air castles, in the shadowy background stood two simple
men whose names were never mentioned except in terms of loving
endearment.

Among their many friends, Quince Forrest was Dell's hero. "They're all
good fellows," he admitted, "but Mr. Quince is a prince. He gave us our
start in cattle. Our debt to him--well, we can never pay it. And he
never owned a hoof himself."

"We owe Mr. Paul just as much," protested Joel. "He showed us our
chance. When pa died, the settlers on the Solomon talked of making bound
boys of us. Mr