stood at the hitch-rack. That he was reticent in his business
matters was well known among all his old foremen, including
Forrest and myself. If he had a confidant among his men, Jim
Flood was the man--and there were a few things he did not know.
As we mounted our horses to return to our respective camps, old
man Don quietly took my bridle reins in hand and allowed the
others to ride away. "I want a parting word with you, Tom," said
he a moment later. "Something has happened to-day which will
require the driving of the Buford herds in some road brand other
than the 'Circle Dot.' The first blacksmith shop you pass, have
your irons altered into 'Open A's,' and I'll do the same with
Quince and Dave's brands. Of the why or wherefore of this, say
nothing to any one, as no one but myself knows. Don't breathe a
word even to Flood, for he don't know any more than he should.
When the time comes, if it ever does, you'll know all that is
necessary--or nothing. That's all."



CHAPTER III. RECEIVING AT LOS LOBOS

The trip to Lasalle County was mere pastime. All three of the
outfits kept in touch with each other, camping far enough apart
to avoid any conflict in night-herding the remudas. The only
incident to mar the pleasure of the outing was the discovery of
ticks in many of our horses' ears. The pasture in which they had
wintered was somewhat brushy, and as there had been no frost to
kill insect life, myriads of seed-ticks had dropped from the
mesquite thickets upon the animals when rubbing against or
passing underneath them. As the inner side of a horse's ear is