n some cold winters on the
range," said the latter, "and that's the reason he fears the worst. But
come as it will, if we do all in our power, put up the best fight in us,
and fail, then we are blameless. But with my experience, if I let you
fail, when you might have won, then I have done you an injury."

That was the platform on which men and boys stood, the outline on which
their mutual venture must stand or fall, and admitted of no shirking on
the part of any one. The most minute detail, down to a change of clean
saddle blankets, for winter work, must be fully understood. The death of
a horse in which reliance rested, at an unfortunate moment, might mean
the loss of the herd, and a clean, warm blanket on a cold day was the
merciful forethought of a man for his beast. No damp, frosty, or frozen
blanket must be used on the Wells ranch.

On the return trip, an early start was made. A night camp was necessary,
at the halfway point, the dread of which was robbed of its terrors by
the presence of a veteran of the open. Before leaving the depot, Priest
unearthed a number of bundles, "little things that might come in handy,"
among which was a sack of salt and two empty oak barrels. The latter
provoked an inquiry from Joel, and an explanation was forced at
the moment.

"Did you notice a big steer that came in with the last cattle, and which
was overlooked in branding?" inquired Priest, meeting the boy's query
with a question.

"A mottled beef, branded 7L?"

"That's the steer. Why do you reckon we overlooked branding him?"

"Dell and I thought it was an oversight."

"When you see what I'm going to do with that salt and these barrels,
then you'll see that it was no neglect. That steer has undergone several
Northern winters, has reached his prime, and the governor's cellar won't
have any better corn beef this winter than the Wells ranch. Seven or
eight hundred pounds of pickled beef is an important item in the winter
intrenchments. In fact, it's an asset to any cow camp. There are so many
little things that may come in handy."

The second morning out from the station, Priest bore off on a course
that would land him well above the grove on the Beaver. He had never
been over the range, and not wishing to waste a day with a loaded wagon,
he angled away for the sand hills which formed the divide, sloping away
to the branches of the main creek. Noon found him on the south fork;
cattle were encountered near the juncture, and