ose and scattered after our horses. There was quite a
cavalcade going our way, and as we halted within the light of the fires
for the different outfits to gather, Flood rode up, and calling Forrest,
said: "In the absence of any word from old man Don, we might as well
all pull out in the morning. More than likely we'll hear from him at
Grinnell, and until we reach the railroad, the Buford herds had better
take the lead. I'll drag along in the rear, and if there's another move
made from Dodge, you will have warning. Now, that's about all, except to
give your cattle plenty of time; don't hurry. S'long, fellows."

CHAPTER XI. ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK

The next morning the herds moved out like brigades of an army on
dress-parade. Our front covered some six or seven miles, the Buford
cattle in the lead, while those intended for Indian delivery naturally
fell into position on flank and rear. My beeves had enjoyed a splendid
rest during the past week, and now easily took the lead in a steady
walk, every herd avoiding the trail until necessity compelled us to
reenter it. The old pathway was dusty and merely pointed the way, and
until rain fell to settle it, our intention was to give it a wide berth.
As the morning wore on and the herds drew farther and farther apart,
except for the dim dust-clouds of ten thousand trampling feet on a raw
prairie, it would have been difficult for us to establish each other's
location. Several times during the forenoon, when a swell of the plain
afforded us a temporary westward view, we caught glimpses of Forrest's
cattle as they snailed forward, fully five miles distant and barely
noticeable under the low sky-line. The Indian herds had given us a good
start in the morning, and towards evening as the mirages lifted, not a
dust-signal was in sight, save one far in our lead.

The month of June, so far, had been exceedingly droughty. The scarcity
of water on the plains between Dodge and Ogalalla was the dread of every
trail drover. The grass, on the other hand, had matured from the first
rank growth of early spring into a forage, rich in sustenance, from
which our beeves took on flesh and rounded into beauties. Lack of water
being the one drawback, long drives, not in miles but hours, became the
order of the day; from four in the morning to eight at night, even at
an ox's pace, leaves every landmark of the day far in the rear at
nightfall. Thus for the next few days we moved forward, the monotony
o