cloud, indicating the locality of the trailing herd, then hidden behind
the last divide before reaching Beaver Creek. On every hand the
undulating plain rolled away to low horizons, and the men rode forward
at a leisurely pace.

"I've been thinking of those boys," suddenly said the trail foreman,
arousing himself from a reverie. "They're to be pitied. This government
ought to be indicted for running a gambling game, robbing children,
orphan children of a soldier, at that. There's a fair sample of the skin
game the government's running--bets you one hundred and sixty acres
against fourteen dollars you can't hold down a homestead for five years.
And big as the odds look, in nine cases out of ten, in this country, the
government wins. It ought to be convicted on general principles. Men are
not to be pitied, but it's a crime against women and children."

"Oh, you cowmen always rail at the settler," retorted the stranger; "you
would kick if you were being hung. There's good in everything. A few
years of youthful poverty, once they reach manhood, isn't going to hurt
those boys. The school of experience has its advantages."

"If it's convenient, let's keep an eye on those boys the next few
years," said the trail boss, catching sight of his remuda. "Now, there's
the wagon. Suppose you ride down to the Beaver and select a good camp,
well above the trail crossing, and I'll meet the commissary and herd.
We'll have to lay over this afternoon, which will admit of watering the
herd twice to-day. Try and find some shade."

The men separated, riding away on different angles. The foreman hailed
his wagon, found the victim resting comfortably, and reported securing a
haven for the wounded man. Instructing his cook to watch for a signal,