ate. You come
along with me."

Together the foreman and the big cowman rode out to the grazing ground,
where they circled the great herd, glancing critically over them as they
rode.

"What do you think?" asked Big-foot as they completed the circuit of the
herd.

"I should say we were close to five hundred head short," decided the
foreman. "How does it look to you?"

"I reckon you're about right. Suffering cats, but that was a run! Never
saw a bunch scatter so in my life."

"Couldn't be helped. The night was so dark you couldn't tell whether you
had a hundred or a thousand with you. Did you strike any cross trails
while you were coming in!"

"Nary a one--not in the direction I came from. If I'd kept on last
night, at the rate I was going, I'd have rounded up in Wyoming some time
to-day I reckon. Sorry the Pinto's strayed away. He'll have a time of it
finding his way back. Reckon we won't see the kid again this trip,"
decided Big-foot.

"We've got to," answered the foreman sharply. "We don't move from this
bed till he's been picked up, even if it takes all summer."

"You--you don't reckon he's with that other bunch, do you?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. The boy has pluck and I have an idea that if
he got in with a lot of cows he'd stick to them till the pony went down
under him."

"More'n likely that's what happened. I'll tell you what we had better
do----"

"Get all the boys together who are not needed on guard," interrupted
Stallings. "Let them circle out to the west and southwest and shoot.
Have each man fire a shot every five minutes by the watch as they move
out. That will keep them in touch with each other, and will act as a
guide to the kid if he happens to be within hearing."

"How far shall we go?"

"Half an hour out. It's not safe to leave the herd any longer unless the
fog clears away. As soon as that goes we'll organize a regular search. I
want those cows, and I want to find the boy."

The men quickly mounted their ponies and disappeared in the fog,
following the orders given by the foreman. After a time those in camp
could faintly hear the distant cracks of the cowpunchers' pistols as
they fired their signals into the air.

In the meantime Tad Butler was keeping his lonely vigil on the fogbound
plains many miles away.

The fog was still hovering over the herd as the afternoon waned, and the
lad's body was dripping wet from it. Occasionally he brushed a hand
across his face, wiping away t