"Wait 'till yuh burn Lazy Eights on wriggling, blatting calves
for two or three hours at a stretch before yuh talk about the
joys uh branding." Park rubbed eloquently his aching biceps.

At dusk Thurston crept into his blankets, feeling that he would
like the night to be at least thirty six hours long. He was
just settling into a luxurious, leather-upholstered dream chair
preparatory to telling Reeve-Howard his Western experiences when
Park's voice bellowed into the tent:

"Roll out, boys--we got a train pulling in!"

There was hurried dressing in the dark of the bed-tent, hasty
mounting, and a hastier ride through the cool night air. There
were long hours at the chutes, prodding down at a wavering line
of moving shadows, while the "big dipper" hung bright in the sky
and lighted lanterns bobbed back and forth along the train
waving signals to one another. At intervals Park's voice cut
crisply through the turmoil, giving orders to men whom he could
not see.

The east was lightening to a pale yellow when the men climbed at
last into their saddles and galloped out to camp for a hurried
breakfast. Thurston had been comforting his aching body with
the promise of rest and sleep; but three thousand cattle were
milling impatiently in the stockyards, so presently he found
himself fanning a sickly little blaze with his hat while he
endeavored to keep the smoke from his tired eyes. Of a truth,
Reeve-Howard would have stared mightily at sight of him.