git out o' it."

"Think we better push on, or make camp?" asked Ted.

"Got ter make camp fer ther night somewhere," answered Bud. "But I wisht ther storm hed held off till ter-morrer this time; we'd hev been within hootin' distance o' ther Long Tom Ranch."

"Suppose we push on a few hours more. We can camp down in the dark if we must. If the snow gets deep before ye reach the high ground you know what it means."

"I shore do. I wuz all through a big snow in this yere man's country a few years back, an' it wuz some fierce."

"All right. Ride back and drive them up. I'll point. We'll drive until it gets too dark. Tell the wagons to move up."

Bud wheeled his pony and dashed to the rear of the great herd of cattle that was coming on at a snail's pace.

The cattle were lowing uneasily. They knew even better than the men that a storm was coming, and they dreaded it.

This was the big Circle S herd which the broncho boys had bought in Texas in the spring of that year, and which they had herded and driven northward throughout the summer to winter on the Montana plateau, later to be driven to Moon Valley, and there put into condition for the market.

Various things had delayed the arrival of the herd on their winter grounds. A detention of several days at a time by flood, by a stampede, and by fights with rustlers, had brought the cattle several weeks late to their winter grounds.

Ted Strong had determined to try the experiment of wintering Southern cattle in the Montana country in order to harden them and improve the quality of the beef.

The broncho boys had a large order to fill for the government the following summer, and it was to accomplish their contract that they had bought the Texas cattle and driven them north to the Long Tom Ranch in northern Montana.

Now that they were within a few miles of it, and still on the low ground, it appeared that a big snow was inevitable, which might frustrate all their plans and cause them great loss.

But Ted Strong did not complain. It was a condition which he could not have foreseen, and, being close at hand, there was nothing for them to do but meet it with all the fortitude at their command.

Soon the herd began to move forward, being crowded by the broncho boys and the force of cow-punchers whom they had employed to assist them.

Stella Fosdick, who, with her aunt, Mrs. Walter Graham, had accompanied the boys on their drive, now came galloping up to Ted. She had been riding beside the carriage in which her aunt had been comfortably traveling.

"Going to keep on, Ted?" she asked.

"Yes. Got to do it. Those clouds are full of snow. If it catches us down here we're likely to be snowed in, and if we do it's all up with the Circle S," he replied.

"That's bad."

"Oh, I guess we'll pull through all right, if we can keep the cows moving; but it is not going to be very comfortable for your aunt or you. We'll have to drive until the cattle refuse to move farther."

"I can stand it, and aunt will have to. She's getting a little anxious, though, and asked me to ride ahead to learn when we're going to stop. Poor auntie likes her comfort. I often wonder why she became the wife of a ranchman."

"Or why she consents to traipse all over the country with you," laughed Ted.

"Ted, she absolutely cannot refuse me a thing."

"So I see. You've got her hypnotized—as, indeed, you have all the rest of us. But ride back and cheer her up all you can. I told McCall, the cook, to make some good, strong coffee and to serve it to any of the boys who wanted it, as it will be some time before we can have supper. Have Mac take her a cup of good, strong coffee and something to eat. That may make her a little more cheerful."

"I'll do it. But don't you want some coffee, too?"

"Not for me. I've got something else to do right here. This is going to be a race between the herd and the snow clouds, and it means a whole lot to us."

"Afraid of being snowed in?"

"You bet. If this bunch of cattle gets snowed in I see our finish. We'll lose half of them before we get to the grass."

"I don't know a thing about the Northern range, and I can't see how you're going to bring that herd through to spring. It would take thousands of tons of hay, and I don't know how much corn to feed them."

Ted laughed.

"I see you don't know much about the North," he said. "But what should a girl brought up in Texas know of wintering cattle in the snow? You see, it's this way: Montana is the best winter cattle range in the United States.

"The winds from the mountains sweep the snow, which is dry and loose, from the high, level ground, exposing the grass which has been cured on the ground, and which makes the best kind of feed. Then there is plenty of water, and the deep coulees, with which the country is cut up, afford ample protection for the cattle during storms.

"Occasionally there comes warm winds from the northwest. These are called chinook winds, because they come from the direction of the country of the Chinook Indians. They are warm and balmy, and melt the snow as if by magic. Their warmth is caused by having come in contact with the Japanese stream, which crosses the Pacific Ocean, after being warmed in the sunny East, and which strikes the shores of North America along about south Alaska. This stream is called by the Japanese, Kuro Siwo. It is the equivalent of the Gulf Stream, which leaves the Gulf of Mexico to cross the Atlantic and warm the shores of Great Britain."

"Quite a lecture," said Stella, laughing.

"I didn't mean to lecture," replied Ted, laughing also, "but I wanted you to know why it is that it is a good thing to winter cattle in this north country. In the first place it puts strength and stamina into the cattle, and makes the beef better, and all the conditions of which I have spoken make it possible to keep cattle on the open range out here, where one would think they would perish of cold and starvation. But it is no picnic to run a winter range, as we will all learn before spring comes again."

"I understand now, and I'm sure I shall enjoy the experience. But I must go back to aunt and jolly her up, for she is easily discouraged, and she is no more used to rough winters than I."

"She'll be all right when we get to Long Tom, for there is a bully ranch house there, and she'll be as snug as a bug in a rug when we get settled."

The cattle were going forward over the gentle, rising ground, being pushed by the punchers in the rear and the fellows on the side lines, while Ted and Kit were pointing them in the direction of a tall butte, which they could see in the distance, rising needlelike and black against the gray sky.

This was Long Tom Butte, after which the ranch, which Ted had leased, had been named.

Suddenly, Ted felt something wet on his cheek, and looked up. A snowflake, big and floating lazily down, had struck him.

Others followed it, and soon there were myriads of big, wet snowflakes falling slowly through the air.

The cattle began to hurry, and were lowing in a distressing way. Their instinct told them to seek shelter, and they were telling their drovers as much in their own fashion.

For a half hour the snow continued to come down, wet and soft.

But suddenly the wind changed in temperature. Before it had been raw and damp. Now it became sharp and frosty.

The snow changed quickly from heavy, wet flakes, to small, dry, sharp particles, which, driven by a strong wind, which had veered around into the north, stung the faces of the boys like needles, and worried the cattle, which seemed to want to lag in their pace.

"Kit, go back and tell the boys to keep pushing harder. The cattle want to stop, and if they quit now it's all up. There's a blizzard coming. If we can keep them at it an hour longer, we will be in the lee of the buttes, and there's a deep coulee into which we can drive and hold them until morning."

At Ted's command Kit dashed toward