the through outfits a chilling contempt. I had
ribbed up Parent not even to give them a pleasant word about our wagon
or headquarters; and particularly if Bob Quirk came through with one
of the purchased herds, he was to be given the marble heart. One outfit
loose-herded the new cattle, the other two going home, and about the
middle of the month, my brother and The Rebel came trailing in with
the last two herds. I was delighted to meet my old bunkie, and had him
remain over until the last outfit went home, when we reluctantly parted
company. Not so, however, with Bob Quirk, who haughtily informed me that
he came near slapping my cook for his effrontery. "So you are another
one of these lousy through outfits that think we ought to make a fuss
over you, are you?" I retorted. "Just you wait until we do. Every one of
you except old Paul had the idea that we ought to give you a reception
and ask you to sleep in our beds. I'm glad that Parent had the gumption
to give you a mean look; he'll ride for me next year."

The month of October finished the shipping. There was a magic in that
Northern climate that wrought wonders in an animal from the South.
Little wonder that the buffalo could face the blizzard, in a country of
his own choosing, and in a climate where the frost king held high revel
five months out of the twelve. There was a tonic like the iron of wine
in the atmosphere, absorbed alike by man and beast, and its possessor
laughed at the fury of the storm. Our loss of cattle during the first
winter, traceable to season, was insignificant, while we sold out over
two hundred head more than the accounts called for, due to the presence
of strays, which went to Buford. And when the last beef was shipped, the
final delivery concluded to the army, Don Lovell was a quarter-million
dollars to the good, over and above the contract price at which he
failed to deliver the same cattle to the government the fall before.

As foreman of Lovell's beef ranch on the Little Missouri I spent five
banner years of my life. In '89 the stock, good-will, and range were
sold to a cattle syndicate, who installed a superintendent and posted
rules for the observance of its employees. I do not care to say why, but
in a stranger's hands it never seemed quite the same home to a few of us
who were present when it was transformed into a cattle range. Late that
fall, some half-dozen of us who were from Texas asked to be relieved and
returned to the South.