the tented life of the plains; it
was good even to be "speeding fleetly where the grassland meets the sky
"--for two weeks in the saddle had changed considerably his view-point.
He turned again to the dust and roar of the stockyards a mile or so
away.

"Perhaps," he remarked hopefully, "the next train will be ours." Strange
how soon a man may identify himself with new conditions and new aims. He
had come West to look upon the life from the outside, and now his chief
thought was of the coming steers, which he referred to unblushingly as
"our cattle." Such is the spell of the range.

"Let's ride on over, Bud," Park proposed. "That's likely the Circle Bar
shipment. Their bunch comes from the same place ours does, and I want to
see how they stack up."

Thurston agreed and went to saddle up. He had mastered the art of
saddling and could, on lucky days and when he was in what he called
"form," rope the horse he wanted; to say nothing of the times when his
loop settled unexpectedly over the wrong victim. Park Holloway, for
instance, who once got it neatly under his chin, much to his disgust and
the astonishment of Thurston.

"I'm going to take my Kodak," said he. "I like to watch them unload, and
I can get some good pictures, with this sunlight."

"When you've hollered 'em up and down the chutes as many times as I
have," Park told him, "yuh won't need no pictures to help yuh remember
what it's like."

It was an old story with Park, and Thurston's enthusiasm struck him as
a bit funny. He perched upon a corner of the fence out of the way, and
smoked cigarettes while he watched the cattle and shouted pleasantries
to the men who prodded and swore and gesticulated at the wild-eyed
huddle in the pens. Soon his turn would come, but just now he was
content to look on and take his ease.

"For the life of me," cried Thurston, sidling gingerly over to him, "I
can't see where they all come from. For two days these yards have never
been empty. The country will soon be one vast herd."

"Two days--huh! this thing'll go on for weeks, m'son. And after all is
over, you'll wonder where the dickens they all went to. Montana is some
bigger than you realize, I guess. And next fall, when shipping starts,
you'll think you're seeing raw porterhouse steaks for the whole world.
Let's drift out uh this dust; you'll have time to get a carload uh
pictures before our bunch rolls in."

As a matter of fact, it was two weeks before the Lazy Eight c