Through the dry summer before, when other men read the ominous signs and
hurriedly leased pasture-land and cut down their herds to what the fields
would feed, Eagle Creek went calmly on as he had done always. He shipped
what beef was fit --and that, of a truth, was not much!--and settled down
for the winter, trusting to winter snows and spring rains to refill the
long-dry lakes and waterholes, and coat the levels anew with grass.

But the winter snows had failed to appear, and with the spring came no rain.
"April showers" became a hideously ironical joke at nature's expense. Always
the wind blew, and sometimes great flocks of clouds would drift
superciliously up from the far sky-line, play with men's hopes, and sail
disdainfully on to some more favored land.

It is all very well for a man to cling stubbornly to precedent, but if he
clings long enough, there comes a time when to cling becomes akin to crime.
Eagle Creek Smith still stubbornly held that rangecattle should be kept to
the range. He waited until May was fast merging to June, watching, from
sheer habit, for the spring transformation of brown prairies into green.
When it did not come, and only the coulee sides and bottoms showed green
among the brown, he accepted ruefully the unusual conditions which nature
had thrust upon him, and started "Wooden Shoes" out with the wagons on the
horse round-up, which is a preliminary to the roundup proper, as every one
knows.



CHAPTER 6

A Shot From the Dark.