"I'm going to take my Kodak," said he. "I like to watch them
unload, and I can get some good pictures, with this sunlight."

"When you've hollered 'em up and down the chutes as many times
as I have," Park told him, "yuh won't need no pictures to help
yuh remember what it's like."

It was an old story with Park, and Thurston's enthusiasm struck
him as a bit funny. He perched upon a corner of the fence out
of the way, and smoked cigarettes while he watched the cattle
and shouted pleasantries to the men who prodded and swore and
gesticulated at the wild-eyed huddle in the pens. Soon his turn
would come, but just now he was content to look on and take his
ease.

"For the life of me," cried Thurston, sidling gingerly over to
him, "I can't see where they all come from. For two days these
yards have never been empty. The country will soon be one vast
herd."

"Two days--huh! this thing'll go on for weeks, m'son. And after
all is over, you'll wonder where the dickens they all went to.
Montana is some bigger than you realize, I guess. And next fall,
when shipping starts, you'll think you're seeing raw porterhouse
steaks for the whole world. Let's drift out uh this dust;
you'll have time to get a carload uh pictures before our bunch
rolls in."

As a matter of fact, it was two weeks before the Lazy Eight