g the time when he, too, "set back East" and wrote
it like he thought maybe it was, blushed guiltily. He was thankful that
his stories of the West had, without exception, been rejected as of
little worth. He shuddered to think of one of them falling into the
hands of Park Holloway.

"I came out to learn, and I want to learn it thoroughly," he said, in
the face of much physical discomfort. Just then the horses slowed for a
climb, and he breathed thanks. "In the first place," he began again when
he had readjusted himself carefully in the saddle, "I wish you'd tell me
just where you are going with the wagons, and what you mean by trailing
a herd."

"Why, I thought I said we were going to Billings," Park answered,
surprised. "What we're going to do when we get there is to receive a
shipment of cattle young steer that's coming up from the Panhandle which
is a part uh Texas. And we trail 'em up here and turn 'em loose this
side the river. After that we'll start the calf roundup. The Lazy Eight
runs two wagons, yuh know. I run one, and Deacon Smith runs the other;
we work together, though, most of the time. It makes quite a crew,
twenty-five or thirty men."

"I didn't know," said Thurston dubiously, "that you ever shipped cattle
into this country. I supposed you shipped them out. Is Mr. Graves buying
some?"

"Hank? I guess yes! six thousand head uh yearlings and two year-olds,
this spring; some seasons it's more. We get in young stock every year
and turn 'em loose on the range till they're ready to ship. It's cheaper
than raising calves, yuh know. When yuh get to Billings, Bud, you'll see
some cattle! Why, our bunch alone will make seven trains, and that ain't
a commencement. Cattle's cheap down South, this year, and seems like
everybody's buying. Hank didn't buy as much as some, because he runs
quite a bunch uh cows; we'll brand six or seven thousand calves this
spring. Hank sure knows how to rake in the coin."

Thurston agreed as politely as he could for the jolting. They had
again struck the level and seven miles, at Park's usual pace, was
heartbreaking to a man not accustomed to the saddle. Thurston had
written, just before leaving home, a musical bit of verse born of his
luring dreams, about "the joy of speeding fleetly where the grassland
meets the sky," and he was gritting his teeth now over the idiotic
lines.

When they reached the ranch and Mona's mother came to the door and
invited them in, he declined almost