, and
preparation was made to leave that evening. It was in the neighborhood
of ninety miles across to the mouth of the Yellowstone, and the chances
were that we would ride it without unsaddling. The horses had had a two
weeks' rest, and if our employer insisted on it, we would breakfast with
the herds the next morning. I was anxious to see the cattle again and
rejoin my outfit, but like a watched pot, the train was an hour late.
Sponsilier and I took advantage of the delay and fortified the inner
man against the night and the ride before us. This proved fortunate, as
Lovell and my brother had supper en route in the dining-car. A running
series of questions were asked and answered; saddles were shaken out of
gunny-sacks and cinched on waiting horses as though we were starting
to a prairie fire. Bob Quirk's cattle had reached the Crow Agency in
splendid condition, the delivery was effected without a word, and old
man Don was in possession of a letter from Flood, saying everything had
passed smoothly at the Rosebud Agency.

Contrary to the expectation of Sponsilier and myself, our employer was
in a good humor, fairly walking on the clouds over the success of his
two first deliveries of the year. But amid the bustle and rush, in view
of another frosty night, Sponsilier inquired if it would not be a good
idea to fortify against the chill, by taking along a bottle of brandy.
"Yes, two of them if you want to," said old man Don, in good-humored
approval. "Here, Tom, fork this horse and take the pitch out of him," he
continued; "I don't like the look of his eye." But before I could reach
the horse, one of my own string, Bob Quirk had mounted him, when in
testimony of the nutritive qualities of Dakota's grasses, he arched his
spine like a true Texan and outlined a worm-fence in bucking a circle.

The start was made during the gathering dusk. Sponsilier further
lifted the spirits of our employer, as we rode along, by a clear-cut
description of the opposition cattle, declaring that had they ever
equaled ours, the handling they had received since leaving Ogalalla,
compared to his, would class them with short twos in the spring against
long threes in the fall. Within an hour the stars shone out, and after
following the river some ten miles, we bore directly north until
Beaver Creek was reached near midnight. The pace was set at about an
eight-mile, steady clip, with an occasional halt to tighten cinches or
shift saddles. The horses