at the hands of the stranger, indicating a camp on the creek, he turned
and awaited the arrival of the lead cattle of the trailing column.
Issuing orders to cover the situation, he called off half the men, first
veering the herd to the nearest water, and rode to overtake his wagon
and saddle horses.

Beaver Creek was barely running water, with an occasional long pool. A
hedge of willows was interwoven, Indian fashion, from which a tarpaulin
was stretched to the wagon bows, forming a sheltered canopy. Amid a fire
of questions, the wounded man was lifted from the wagon.

"Are you sure there isn't a woman at this nester's shack," said he
appealingly to the bearers of the blanket stretcher. "If there is, I
ain't going. Paul, stand squarely in front of me, where I can see your
eyes. After what I've been handed lately, it makes me peevish. I want to
feel the walnut juice in your hand clasp. Now, tell it all over
once more."

The stranger was artfully excused, to select a beef, after which the
foreman sat down beside his man, giving him all the details and making
valuable suggestions. He urged courteous treatment of their guest while
he remained; that there was nothing to be gained, after the accident, by
insult to a visitor, and concluded by praising the boys and bespeaking
their protection.

The wounded man was Southern by birth and instinct, and knew that the
hospitality of ranch and road and camp was one and the same. "Very
well," said he, "but in this instance, remember it's my calf that's
gored. Serves me right, though, kittening up to every stranger that
comes along. I must be getting tired of you slatterly cow hands." He