s way in spite
of the storm. And if he came there would be delay, even if there were
nothing worse. So Irish, being one to fight but never to stand idle,
mounted again and turned his long-suffering horse down the coulee as the
storm swept up.

First a few large drops of rain pattered upon the earth and left blobs
of wet where they fell. His horse shook its head impatiently and went
sidling forward until an admonitory kick from Irish sent him straight
down the dim trail. Then the clouds opened recklessly the headgates and
let the rain down in one solid rush of water that sluiced the hillsides
and drove muddy torrents down channels that had been dry since the snow
left.

Irish bent his head so that his hat shielded somewhat his face, and
rode doggedly on. It was not the first time that he had been out in a
smashing, driving thunderstorm, and it would not be his last if his
life went on logically as he had planned it. But it was not the more
comfortable because it was an oft-repeated experience. And when the
first fury had passed and still it rained steadily and with no promise
of a let-up, his optimism suffered appreciably.

His luck in town no longer cheered him. He began to feel the loss of
sleep and the bone-weariness of his fight and the long ride afterwards.
His breakfast was the one bright spot, and saved him from the gnawing
discomfort of an empty stomach--at first.

He went into One Man Coulee and followed it to the arm that would
lead to the rolling, ridgy open land beyond, where the "breaks" of the
Badlands reached out to meet the prairie. He came across the track of
the herd, and followed it to the plain. Once out in the open, however,
the herd had seemed to split into several small bunches, each going in
a different direction. Which puzzled Irish a little at first. Later, he
thought he understood.

The cattle, it would seem, had been driven purposefully into the edge of
the breaks and there made to scatter out through the winding gulches
and canyons that led deeper into the Badlands. It was the trick of
range-men--he could not believe that the strange settlers, ignorant
of the country and the conditions, would know enough to do this. He
hesitated before several possible routes, the rain pouring down
upon him, a chill breeze driving it into his face. If there had been
hoofprints to show which way the boys had gone, the rain had washed them
so that they looked dim and old and gave him little help.

He ch