t, when the latter turned on us,
saying: "You fellows think you're d--d smart, now, don't you? You're
both purty good talkers, but neither one of you can show me where the
rainbow comes in in rotting along with these measly cattle. It's enough
to make a man kick his own dog. But I can see where the old man was
perfectly right in sending you two up to Miles City. When you fellows
work your rabbit's foot, it will be Katy with those Washington City
schemers--more than likely they'll not draw cards when they see that you
are in the game--When it comes to the real sabe, you fellows shine like
a tree full of owls. Honest, it has always been a wonder to me that
Grant didn't send for both of you when he was making up his cabinet."

The herds crossed the railroad about a mile west of Little Missouri
Station. The wagons secured the needed supplies, and pulled out down the
river, leaving Sponsilier and myself foot-loose and free.

Lovell was riding a livery horse, and as neither of us expected him to
return until it was too dark to see the cattle, we amused ourselves by
looking over the town. There seemed to be a great deal of freighting to
outlying points, numerous ox and mule trains coming in and also leaving
for their destinations. Our employer came in about dusk, and at once
went to the depot, as he was expecting a message. One had arrived during
his absence, and after reading it, he came over to Dave and me, saying:

"It's from Mike Sutton. I authorized him to secure the services of the
best lawyer in the West, and he has just wired me that he has retained
Senator Aspgrain of Sioux City, Iowa. They will report at Fort Buford
on September the 5th and will take care of any legal complications which
may arise. I don't know who this senator is, but Mike has orders not to
spare any expense as long as we have the other fellow's money to fight
with. Well, if the Iowa lawyers are as good stuff as the Iowa troops
were down in Dixie, that's all I ask. Now, we'll get our suppers and
then sack our saddles--why, sure, you'll need them; every good cowman
takes his saddle wherever he goes, though he may not have clothes enough
with him to dust a fiddle."

CHAPTER XIX. IN QUARANTINE

We reached Miles City shortly after midnight. It was the recognized
cattle centre of Montana at that time, but devoid of the high-lights
which were a feature of the trail towns. The village boasted the usual
number of saloons and dance-houses, and likewi