for his own saddle. Flood was not so particular, as his
destination was in southern Dakota, but my brother Bob was again
ticketed for the Crow Agency in Montana, and would naturally
expect a good remuda. Tolleston was going to western Wyoming,
while the Fort Buford cattle were a two-weeks' later delivery and
fully five hundred miles farther travel. On my return Lovell was
in the city, but I felt positive that if he took a hand in the
division, Tolleston would only run on the rope once.

A few days before the appointed time, the men began thronging
into headquarters. Down to the minutest detail about the wagons
and mule teams, everything was shipshape. The commissary
department was stocked for a month, and everything was ready to
harness in and move. Lovell's headquarters was a stag ranch, and
as fast as the engaged cooks reported, they were assigned to
wagons, and kept open house in relieving the home cocinero. In
the absence of our employer, Flood was virtually at the head of
affairs, and artfully postponed the division of horses until the
last moment. My outfit had all come in in good time, and we were
simply resting on our oars until the return of old man Don from
San Antonio. The men were jubilant and light-hearted as a lot of
school-boys, and with the exception of a feeling of jealousy
among the foremen over the remudas, we were a gay crowd, turning
night into day. But on the return of our employer, all frivolity
ceased, and the ranch stood at attention. The only unfinished
work was the division of the horses, and but a single day
remained before the agreed time for starting. Jim Flood had met
his employer at the station the night before, and while returning
to the ranch, the two discussed the apportionment of the saddle
stock. The next morning all the foremen were called together,