"Aw, they'll be miles away by then," Bob assured him
unfeelingly. "By the signs, you can take snap-shots by
lightning in another hour. Got your slicker, Bud?"

Thurston said he hadn't, and Bob shook his head prophetically.
"You'll sure wish yuh had it before yuh hit camp again; when yuh
get wise, you'll ride with your slicker behind the cantle, rain
or shine. They'll need singing to, to-night."

Thurston prudently kept silent, since he knew nothing whatever
about it, and Bob gave him minute directions about riding his
rounds, and how to turn a stray animal back into the herd
without disturbing the others.

The man they relieved met them silently and rode away to camp.
Off to the right an animal coughed, and a black shape moved out
from the shadows.

Bob swung towards it, and the shape melted again into the
splotch of shade which was the sleeping herd. He motioned to the
left. "Yuh can go that way; and yuh want to sing something, or
whistle, so they'll know what yuh are." His tone was subdued, as
it had not been before. He seemed to drift away into the
darkness, and soon his voice rose, away across the herd,
singing. As he drew nearer Thurston caught the words, at first
disjointed and indistinct, then plainer as they met. It was a
song he had never heard before, because its first popularity had
swept far below his social plane.