r men, at
least, had not forgotten Bangs. It was the first time an intimation
that the affair was other than an accident had reached her ears.

In the evening, after resting, the men once more gathered round a fire
for an hour's play. They had evidently blotted out the memory of a
friend who had raised his voice with theirs on the last such event, for
they sang mostly the rollicking airs with even more than the usual
amount of chaff between songs. But there was one old favorite that
they did not sing. At last Waddles swung into the tune of it and as
they buried the poor cowboy far out on the lone prair-ee she noted the
difference at once, and more clearly than ever before she divined the
reason why cowhands were apparently so devoid of sentiment, refusing to
be serious on any topic, passing off those things nearest to their
hearts with a callous jest. It was only that there were so many rough
spots in the hard life they led that they avoided dwelling too
seriously on matters that could not be rectified lest they become
gloomy and morose. There were warm hearts under the indifferent
exteriors. For now the voices were soft and hushed and she knew that
every man was thinking of the lonely mound of rocks that marked the
last resting place of Bangs.

VII

The calf round-up was nearing the end. Two weeks would see the finish
and supply the final tally. The figures had already progressed to the
point where they gave evidence of another shrinkage from the count of
the previous year; and during one of the weekly half-day periods of
rest three members of the Three Bar personnel found their minds
occupied with a problem which excluded all thoughts of sleep. The
problem in each case was the same but each one viewed it from the
individual standpoint of his own particular knowledge of the subject.

Harris sat on a rock and reviewed the plans he had formulated for the
salvation of the Three Bar brand, realizing the weak spots and mapping
out some special line of defense that might serve to strengthen them.
In the seclusion of the wagon Waddles was carefully rereading a
much-thumbed document for perhaps the hundredth time. A man had come
in at daylight with the mail from Brill's and Billie Warren was within
her teepee poring over her share of it. The men had finished theirs
and were sleeping.

The girl read first the four letters in the same handwriting, one to
mark each week she had been on the round-up. The f