The horses had been brought into the corral, and one after another of those chosen had been cut out and sent out through the big gate, all except the one that was to carry Jack's bed. That one had been roped and taken out and tied up to the fence. Then Jack had gone up to the house and brought down his blankets and a few extra clothes, and having wrapped them up in his "tarp," the bundle had been put on the horse with the regular cowboy hitch, and the animal had been set free to feed with its fellows. Then had come breakfast, and he was ready.

It was nearly a year since Jack had crossed a horse, and it seemed very pleasant to be trotting along over the prairie, the bunch going nicely ahead of him. They were fat and frisky and every now and then one of them would lay back his ears and nip at his neighbor, and perhaps the sudden motion would start the little bunch into a gallop, from which they would almost at once come down again to the steady trot.

There had been rain enough—so they said at the ranch—during April, May and the first few days of June, but now the prairie was dry and a little cloud of dust rose from under the horses' hoofs. The bottoms and the high hills were brightly green. Moreover, they were dotted with many beautiful flowers—which of course Jack could not see, because he was moving along swiftly—and down on one of the wet meadows the purple iris, already in bloom, had colored the ground blue in spots.

It was a couple of years now since Jack had been to the ranch, and a good many things had happened; for when a boy is from seventeen to nineteen years of age, things are likely to happen to him pretty fast. He receives many new impressions, has new experiences, and certainly picks up knowledge of one sort or another at a rapid rate. Since Jack had last seen these prairies and mountains he had passed his examinations, entered college, and spent nearly two years there. He had certainly had a good time while he was in New Haven. The toughness and endurance that he had picked up during his summers on the plains and in the mountains had stood him in good stead in athletics and he had won a place on one of the football teams. During a part of his sophomore year, he had had the bad fortune to have a long and tiresome illness from which he was only now convalescing, and since he had lost much time, it had been thought best for him to go out to his uncle's ranch before the end of the college year and to spend the vacation there in getting well.

When he reached the Swift Water Ranch two days before, the round-up had already started and now was in full swing; and Mr. Sturgis, after satisfying himself that Jack was strong enough to do the work, had told him that the best thing for him would be to go out and find the round-up, and work with it. Nothing could have suited Jack better. Hugh was along as a sort of camp-keeper. Mr. Powell and Charley Powell were sure to be there, and so were half a dozen other men whom Jack knew very well, and with whom he would be glad to work. He felt that he was going to have a good time. In fact, he was having a good time now. The air was fresh and cool, the sun bright; far off on the green hills he could see here and there a little white speck which he knew was an antelope; from the fence posts along which he passed sounded the clear whistle of the western meadow lark; and everywhere the air was full of sweet songs of birds, though of them all the meadow lark's was the loudest and clearest.

Jack's outfit was that commonly used by the cow puncher. He wore a flannel shirt and woolen trousers, gloves, and shaps—heavy leather trousers without any seat, to protect the legs when riding through underbrush or thorns. About his waist was his pistol-belt filled with cartridges, while the six-shooter hung well down on his right hip.

It must not be supposed that Jack carried a gun with any purpose of using it against his fellow men, but in those old days of wild prairie and wild cattle a pistol was almost a necessity. While sometimes it was used to kill game, or perhaps against dangerous animals, it often came in play to frighten an angry cow, or to turn a bunch of stampeding cattle.

Before long Jack had left behind him the pasture fence, and when he looked back could no longer see the ranch buildings which, low themselves, and placed in a sheltered hollow, were now cut off by the points of the rounded hills. His course lay southeast across the basin. Now and then the horses, uncertain as to the direction they should take, veered to one side or the other, so that the driver had to ride out on the side toward which they turned and shout at them to head them back.

The miles passed quickly. Occasionally, on some nearby hill Jack saw a little bunch of antelopes—old males with long black horns, and yearlings, both males and females. They looked at him as he drew near, and if he approached too close, ran up to the top of some rise and watched him long after he had passed.

It was after he had crossed the valley, and was riding up through the low foothills that stretched out from the bluffs on the other side, that an old doe antelope burst suddenly from a little coulée close to the bunch of horses, and passing in front of them galloped up the hill on the other side. Almost immediately behind her was a coyote running hard. When it saw the horses it checked itself, and an instant later as it saw the rider, turned and ran. The old doe had done her best, but except for the incident of the horses' being there, she would soon have been pulled down. Her black tongue hung far out of her mouth, and she staggered as she ran.

Jack understood very well what was happening. Evidently two or more coyotes had started this doe, and were taking turns chasing her, one relieving the other which, by cutting off the corners, could save itself, and after it had regained its wind, take up the chase again. So the race might have kept up for an hour or more, until finally, the old doe would have been overtaken, pulled down, and devoured.

To Jack all this was a matter of common knowledge, for more than once he had seen almost that very thing happen. It took him only a moment, therefore, to whirl his horse. Giving him a jab with the spurs, he was close upon the coyote almost before it had started to run. He had jerked out his six-shooter, and as two or three balls knocked up puffs of dust about the coyote, the beast put on a tremendous spurt of speed. It was impossible to take aim from the back of the galloping horse, but one ball passing over the coyote's head caused it to whirl and run broadside for a jump or two, and as it did this, it came in collision with another ball, which quickly ended its career.

"Good enough!" said Jack to himself. "That is better luck than I deserved. I didn't hope to do more than scare the beast, and now I have got it." He rode over and sat on his horse looking down at the coyote, from whose hide great patches of fur had been lost, for the animals were now just shedding their winter coats. Evidently the hide was not worth taking off, and so Jack dismounted and cut off the coyote's head, for in those days there was a bounty on these beasts, and the bounty was worth having. He tied the head to the saddle, remounted, and started down toward his horses. They had stopped and were now feeding, but before long he had them moving again.

Riding steadily and fast across the plateau, he saw to his left something moving, and watching it for a few moments saw that it was a badger digging its hole. Every now and then the badger would sit up and look about him, and then again would put its forefeet on the ground and begin to dig. When he had got as close to the badger as the trail would bring him, Jack suddenly turned Pawnee and galloped