yistiday. The old man wants all them cows to throw into that Arizony drive, an' her an' the calf will make it in all right, I reckon."

So, as they rode along, Bill swung across a little draw toward the water hole they had seen the day before. He picked up the blue-roan, who, with her young son beside her, trotted off, following the rest of the cattle already working down the trails toward the round-up grounds. The two animals fell in with more of their kind as the trails converged until, by the time the roundup ground was reached, there were more than fifteen hundred cattle of all ages and sexes gathered in one great bunch.

The blue-roan's baby kept close to his mother's side; the dust that settled over the herd like a pall, choking him, while the constant bawling of the cattle, fairly deafened him.

Once, when two huge bulls, fighting fiercely, drove through that portion of the herd where he and his mother were, and separated the little family, he added to the din by raising his voice in pitiful outcry for his protector.

Outside of the herd the cowboys rode slowly around, turning back into the center any stragglers that tried to escape.

Gradually the bunch began to stop "milling" and as cow after cow found her calf, the bawling stopped. In half an hour the herd was fairly quiet and the wagon boss dropped off his horse to "cinch up" a little, preparatory to the work of cutting out.

Having reset his saddle, the boss mounted again and, calling to two other men near him, said, "Jack, you go out there a ways and hold 'em up, and Charley and I will get out the cows and the calves." So Jack rode off about one hundred yards from the herd in readiness to receive the "cut" as they came out; while the boss and Charley rode slowly into the mass of cattle.

"What you want out?" he asked of the boss. "The old man wants every Hashknife cow and calf that will stand the trail trip to Arizony," he replied. "We got to get two thousand for the first herd if we can, so cut 'em close."

"There's that ole blue-roan we seen yistiday," the boss remarked, "let's throw her out first thing, she's a good one to start a bunch on."

Now starting a "cut" is always some little trouble until you get half a dozen head together, because the instinct of the animal is to endeavor to either get back into the herd or to run clear off on the range. In starting a cut, if possible, they pick out some old, sedate cow, and in this case the blue-roan was known to be a good one for the purpose.

So our youngster found himself being followed up by a great fierce-looking man mounted on a small wiry "Paint" pony that kept right at his mother's heels, no matter which way she turned or twisted.

The cow dodged and wound through the herd, while that object behind kept close to her, never hurrying, never crowding, but always, in some inexplicable manner, seeming to force her to the outer rim of the herd.

With the dim hope that possibly she could escape his presence by a break from the herd she worked past half a dozen steers standing idly on the edge and, with a quick dash, broke from the herd out toward the free open prairie, the calf racing at her side.

The man who had so persistently hung to her flank made no further attempt to follow her, but turned his pony and was lost in the mass of the herd.

As she widened the distance from the edge of the herd Jack, who, up to this time had been sitting sideways on his pony some distance from the herd, straightened up, a movement which caught her eye, so she stopped to inspect him and decide what new danger was about to present itself.

To her surprise Jack seemed satisfied with her stopping and made no attempt to come near her. The calf ranged along side of her and began preparations for a lunch, so she, being a sensible animal, decided to stay where she was for a time.

A moment later a second cow and calf were also shot out of the edge of the herd. As she charged across the open space Jack again took interest enough in the proceedings to ride out and turn her over toward the blue-roan, which received her with a short bawl. The two calves eyed each other for a second and then busied themselves with their dinner operations.

The second cow, being young, and with her first calf, was inclined to run off and leave the spot, but in some way every time she did so she met Jack and his pony, who, the instant she turned toward the blue cow, seemed satisfied and took no further steps to interfere with her liberty.

Soon a third and fourth cow joined them and, now that there was a nucleus formed, every new animal turned out of the herd chased straight for the little bunch, which stood quietly for the next three hours, their calves sleeping at their feet paying little attention to the uproar that was going on in the main herd.

Having cut out some three hundred cows and calves, the "choppers" rode out of the herd, and the "cut" was slowly driven off to water at a near-by windmill, while the main body of cattle was allowed to drift out onto the range at their own pleasure.

That night the blue-roan and her calf, together with the rest of the cut, were "bedded down" near the round-up camp. All night long two men rode around them and any cow which tried to escape was promptly turned back into the herd by the watchful riders.

The next day this bunch was called the "day herd" and three herders looked after them all day long. They were allowed to graze over a piece of open range where the herders could watch them and see that none of them escaped. At noon they were driven into a great prairie lake to water.

That evening another large bunch of cows and calves were brought out to the day herd and turned into it so that they made quite a respectable herd that night.

At the end of ten days' work they had over the required number to make up the "trail herd," and the wagon boss announced one evening that he would send them into the main ranch on the following day to start for the long trail trip to Arizona.

The blue-roan calf had by this time become a seasoned traveler, and found little difficulty in taking care of himself in the herd. A day or two at the ranch and the preparations for the trip were over.

One fine morning about four o'clock the cook, who had been up in the cool morning air since half-past two, awoke the sleepers about his wagon with a long "roll out, roll out, r-o-l-l-o-u-t" which brought the sleepers in the camp beds scattered about the wagon to the campfire in short order.

By sunrise the herd was strung out on the trail for the West. In the lead was the old blue-roan with her blue calf marching steadily along, grazing when the herd was held up for that purpose, resting when the outfit stopped to rest, and altogether behaving themselves remarkably well.

One night as the crew sat about the campfire with the herd resting quietly not far from the wagon, the wagon boss said to one of the boys near him: "Jim, I wish you'd take your hoss in the mawnin' and go ahead and see how the river is. We got to cross it before long and I'm afeard it's going to be pretty high, if all them clouds up toward the head is good for anything."

Late the next night Jim returned with the information that the river was indeed high and that it would be necessary to swim the cattle, or wait for it to run down.

Four days later the herd was bedded down in the valley of the Pecos River, a mile or two back from the stream. About noon the next day, when the cattle were thirsty, the whole herd was drifted down to the river at a place picked out by the wagon boss where the banks were broken down so the cattle could reach the water. On the opposite side