to drive."

"About five times th' size of th' herd that blamed near made angels
out'en me an' yu," responded Frenchy with a smile.

"I hope almighty hard that we don't have no stampedes on this here
drive. If th' last herds go wild they'll pick up th' others, an' then
there'll be th' devil to pay."

Frenchy smiled again and shot a glance at where Mr. Trendley was bound
to the cabin wall.

Buck looked steadily southward for some time and then flecked a foam-sud
from the flank of his horse. "We are goin' south along th' Creek until
we gets to Big Spring, where we'll turn right smart to th' west. We
won't be able to average more'n twelve miles a day, 'though I'm goin' to
drive them hard. How's yore grub?"

"Grub to burn."

"Got yore rope?" Asked the foreman of the Bar-20, speaking as if the
question had no especial meaning.

Frenchy smiled: "Yes."

Hopalong absent-mindedly jabbed his spurs into his mount with the result
that when the storm had subsided the spell was broken and he said "So
long," and rode south, followed by Buck and Red. As they swept out of
sight behind a grove Red turned in his saddle and waved his hat. Buck
discussed with assiduity the prospects of a rainfall and was very
cheerful about the recovery of the stolen cattle. Red could see a tall,
broad-shouldered man standing with his feet spread far apart, swinging a
Colt's .45, and Hopalong swore at everything under the sun. Dust arose in
streaming clouds far to the south and they spurred forward to overtake
the outfits.

Buck Peters, riding over the starlit plain, in his desire to reach the
first herd, which slept somewhere to the west of him under the care
of Waffles, thought of the events of the past few weeks and gradually
became lost in the memories of twenty years before, which crowded up
before his mind like the notes of a half-forgotten song. His nature,
tempered by two decades of a harsh existence, softened as he lived again
the years that had passed and as he thought of the things which had
been. He was so completely lost in his reverie that he failed to hear
the muffled hoofbeats of a horse that steadily gained upon him, and when
Frenchy McAllister placed a friendly hand on his shoulder he started as
if from a deep sleep.

The two looked at each other and their hands met. The question which
sprang into Buck's eyes found a silent answer in those of his friend.
They rode on side by side through the clear night and together drifted
ba