he latter post was fully one hundred and fifty miles away, but
that distance could be easily covered by a special train in case of
government interference.

It rained on the afternoon of the 9th. The courier had returned from
Fort Buford on the north, unsuccessful, as had also Mr. Radcliff from
Fort Lincoln on the Missouri River to the eastward. The latter post had
referred the request to Keogh, and washed its hands of intermeddling in
a country not tributary to its territory. The last hope of interference
was gone, and the rigors of quarantine closed in like a siege with
every gun of the enemy spiked. Let it be a week or a month before the
quarantine was lifted, the citizens of Montana had so willed it, and
their wish was law. Evening fell, and the men drew round the fires. The
guards buttoned their coats as they rode away, and the tired ones drew
their blankets around them as they lay down to sleep. Scarcely a star
could be seen in the sky overhead, but before my partner or myself
sought our bed, a great calm had fallen, the stars were shining, and the
night had grown chilly.

The old buffalo hunters predicted a change in the weather, but beyond
that they were reticent. As Sponsilier and I lay down to sleep, we
agreed that if three days, even two days, were spared us, those cattle
in quarantine could never be tendered at Fort Buford on the appointed
day of delivery. But during the early hours of morning we were aroused
by the returning guards, one of whom halted his horse near our blankets
and shouted, "Hey, there, you Texans; get up--a frost has fallen!"

Sure enough, it had frosted during the night, and the quarantine was
lifted. When day broke, every twig and blade of grass glistened in
silver sheen, and the horses on picket stood humped and shivering. The
sun arose upon the herds moving, with no excuse to say them nay, and
orders were issued to the guards to break camp and disperse to their
homes. As we rode into Glendive that morning, sullen and defeated by
a power beyond our control, in speaking of the peculiarity of the
intervention, Sponsilier said: "Well, if it rains on the just and the
unjust alike, why shouldn't it frost the same."

CHAPTER XXI. FORT BUFORD

We were at our rope's end. There were a few accounts to settle in
Glendive, after which we would shake its dust from our feet. Very few
of the quarantine guards returned to town, and with the exception of
Sheriff Wherry, none of the leading cow