the bank was low, making a good "coming out" place.

The river here was half a mile wide and running swiftly. It was, however, not swimming all the way across, and the place was known as a safe ford because of an underlying rock ledge, which made good footing for the cattle in a river where quicksand was almost everywhere present.

The water was muddy and red and, as the first cattle, eager for a drink, waded out into its depths, the old blue in the lead, the men carefully pointed them out into the stream, keeping them moving.

The others followed, calves bawling, men shouting, the animals plunging and tearing through the swift waters. Soon the leaders were swimming and, as the water deepened, the old blue touched her baby on the nose and told him something in cow language which made him immediately get on the upstream side of her and stay there as they swam across the river. The swift water forced the little fellow against her side, where he hung like a leech, while his mother swam, strong and steadily, for the opposite bank. If the leaders had any desire to turn downstream they met a horseman on that side, swinging his slicker, and shouting with all his might, and keeping just far enough back of the leaders to stop them from turning downstream, and still not check them in their swimming toward the other side.

Soon the old blue and her comrades found footing and she and her little one were among the first to scramble up the muddy bank and stand on dry land on the western side of the Pecos. The whole herd, including a thousand calves, crossed safely. After the saddle horses had swum the river, and the wagon had been floated over, all the beds and plunder were carried across in a small boat, and the westward journey to Arizona was continued.

"The whole herd swam the Pecos in safety"

The day after their arrival on the Arizona range the cattle were turned out to graze early in the morning. When the calves had all found their mothers and settled down quietly, the boss "cut off" some three hundred cows, each with her calf. These the boys drove to a great stone corral about a mile away, which was almost as large inside as a city block. In one corner a fire of cedar logs was built, into which was stuck a lot of iron affairs with handles three or four feet long, which were the branding irons belonging to the outfit. As he watched the irons in the fire reaching a white heat, the boss remarked that the old man was going to run the same old Hashknife brand and mark in Arizony as he did back in Texas. Finally the boss, throwing away his cigarette, said to the ropers, "Irons hot, fly at 'em boys." Two men on their horses, rode into the mass of cattle crowded against the far side of the corral and, with swift, dextrous throws, began catching the calves. As soon as the rope settled about the neck of one, the horse was turned toward the fire, and as the rope was short and tied to the saddle horn, the unwilling, bawling calf was dragged up to the vicinity of the fire. There two husky cowboys ran out to meet the rider and, following up the rope to the calf dancing and bawling about at the end of it, one of them seized him by the ear or head with one hand and the flank with the other and, with a quick jerk, threw him upon his side. The instant he struck the ground, the other man seized a hind leg and pulled it straight out behind the calf, while the first man, throwing off the rope, sat on the animal's neck and head, and another seared the tender hide with the famous "Hashknife" brand. Still another man with a knife cut off the point of the calf's right ear and took out a little V-shaped piece from the under side of the left ear. This was the company's earmark. In an instant the operation was over and the calf running back to its mother.

The blue-roan calf was determined he should not be branded. He watched the riders as they rode into the herd and buried himself deep in the middle of the mass, worming under the larger cattle and hiding behind them, until he began to believe he would escape after all.

All morning long the men worked away with the herd until the poor animals were half mad with fear and hunger. As the blue-roan dodged to avoid the whirling, snakelike rope that suddenly shot out from the hand of a man he had not noticed, he felt it draw up on his hind legs. Before he knew it, he was lying on his side and being dragged across the rough ground toward the fire, where he was to receive a mark for life.

"I snared that blue-roan that's been so smart," said the rider as he passed the other man. "Burn him deep Dick," he said, "for he's a roan and it will show up fine when he gets grown."

Released from his torture, the roan staggered back to his mother, who gave him all the comfort she could. His side was bruised and sore where he had been dragged over the rough ground, and the great burn on his ribs pained him beyond measure.

Soon after that the bunch was turned out to graze and, sick at heart, the calf crawled miserably under the shade of a small ironwood bush, while his mother went to water, leaving him alone in his wretchedness. From this time on, the blue-roan became a hater of men. The object on horseback was to him the source of all his suffering and pain—a thing to be avoided, and upon which to wreak vengeance some day, if possible.

The country in Arizona was very unlike the old range upon the staked plains in Texas, being rough and rocky, with none of those great grassy stretches they had been accustomed to back in their old home. There were trees here, too, a thing they had never known on their old range, and the cows buried themselves deep in the thickets of cedar and piñon. There they found many tanks or reservoirs of rain water, and unless the water gave out they seldom left their hiding places.

Here, the blue-roan calf and his mother made their home, until one day, when he was about a year old, he was accidentally separated from her and never saw her again. Two years of life in the thickets made him shy and wild as a deer; he learned to watch for objects upon horseback, which were his one great fear. Once in the winter before he lost his mother a trio of wolves followed them through the cedars for a whole day, sneaking up on them as closely as they dared, even nipping at their heels. His mother would turn upon them with a bellow of defiance and charge toward the tormentors, head down, returning quickly to the little bunch of friends that stood together, heads to the foe, their calves within the circle.

A two-year-old heifer, with more pluck than judgment, weak from a long winter of short grass and poor range, made a dart toward the wolves, and turning to join the circle of cows, stumbled and fell to her knees. In a moment the wolves were upon her. While they were busy over their feast, the other cattle slipped away from the fearsome place, and a new danger crept into the blue-roan's life.

Three years had passed. The blue-roan was beginning to be a noted character upon the range. He was broad of horn, and the great black Hashknife, outlined against the blue hide, could be seen for a long distance. The sight of a horseman, no matter how far away, was sufficient to send him plunging down the roughest mountainside, into the depths of the cedar brakes, and over rocks and lava flows, where no mounted man could follow. He was too fleet of foot for the older cows, and the roan soon found himself alone in his glory. He then became what is known to the cowboys of