s me a perfect list is my bully boy."

The incentive of reward stimulated the brothers to action. They
scampered away on ponies, not even waiting to saddle, and several hours
were spent in copying brands. These included characters, figures, and
letters, and to read them with skill was largely a matter of practice.
Any novice ought to copy brands, but in this instance the amateur's list
would be compared with that of an experienced trail foreman, a neutral
judge from which there was no appeal.

The task occupied the entire evening. Forrest not only had them read,
but looked over each copy, lending impartial assistance in reading
characters that might baffle a boy. There were some half dozen of the
latter in Straw's list, a _turkey track_ being the most difficult to
interpret, but when all characters were fully understood, Joel still had
four errors to Dell's three. The cripples were found to be correct in
each instance, and were exempt from further disturbance. Forrest now
insisted that to classify, by enumerating each grade, would assist in
locating the errors, which work would have to be postponed
until morning.

The boys were thoroughly in earnest in mastering the task. Forrest
regaled them with examples of the wonderful expertness of the Texans in
reading brands and classifying cattle. "Down home," said he, "we have
boys who read brands as easily as a girl reads a novel. I know men who
can count one hundred head of mixed cattle, as they leave a corral, or
trail along, and not only classify them but also give you every brand
correctly. Now, that's the kind of cowmen I aim to make out of you boys,
and to-morrow morning you must get these brands accurate. What
was that?"

Both boys sprang to the tent opening and listened. It sounded like a
shot, and within a few moments was seconded by a distant hail.

"Some one must be lost," suggested Joel. "He's down the creek."

"Lost your grandmother!" exclaimed Forrest. "We're all lost in this
country. Here, fire this six-shooter in the air, and follow it up with a
Comanche yell. Dell, build a little fire on the nearest knoll. It's more
than likely some trail man hunting this camp."

The signal-fire was soon burning. The only answer vouchsafed was some
fifteen minutes later, when the clatter of an approaching horse was
distinctly heard. A lantern shone through the tent walls, and the prompt
hail of the horseman proved him no stranger. "Is Quince Forrest here?"
he inquired,