o man could be spared for night herding,
sleeping lightly as a cat beside a mouse hole. He did not say much,
perhaps because everyone was too busy to talk, himself included.

Men rode in at night dog-weary, pulled their saddles and hurried stiffly
to the cabin where Step-and-a-Half was showing his true worth as a cook
who could keep the coffee-pot boiling and yet be ready to pack up and
go at the first rifle-shot. They would bolt down enormous quantities of
bannock and boiled beef, swallow their coffee hot enough to scald a hog,
and stretch themselves out immediately to sleep.

Buddy would be up and on his horse in the clear starlight before dawn,
with a cup of coffee swallowed to hearten him for the chilly ride after
the remuda. Even with the warmth of the coffee his teeth would chatter
just at first, and he would ride with his thin shoulders lifted and a
hand in a pocket. He could not sing or whistle to keep himself company.
He must ride in silence until he had counted every dark, moving shape
and knew that the herd was complete, then ease them quietly to camp.

On the fourth morning he rode anxiously up the valley, fearing that the
horses had been stolen in the night, yet hoping they had merely strayed
up the creek to find fresh pastures. A light breeze that carried the
keen edge of frost made his nose tingle. His horse trotted steadily
forward, as keen on the trail as Buddy himself; keener, for he would be
sure to give warning of danger. So they rounded a bend in the creek and
came upon the scattered fringe of the remuda cropping steadily at the
meadow grass there.

Bud circled them, glancing now and then at the ridge beyond the valley.
It seemed somehow unnatural--lower, with the stars showing along its
wooded crest in a row, as if there were no peaks. Then quite suddenly he
knew that the ridge was the same, and that the stars he saw were little,
breakfast camp-fires. His heart gave a jump when he realized how many
little fires there were, and knew that the dance was over. The Indians
had left the reservation and had crossed the ridge yesterday, and had
camped there to wait for the dawn.

While he gathered his horses together he guessed how old Colorou had
planned to catch the Tomahawk riders when they left camp and scattered,
two by two, on "Circle." He had held his band well out of sight and
sound of the Big Creek cabin, and if the horses had not strayed up the
creek in the night he would have caught the whit