The herd had started an hour before, and when the wagon was ready
to move, I rode a short distance with my employer. It was
possible that he had something to say of a confidential nature,
for it was seldom that he acted so discouraged when his every
interest seemed protected by contracts. But at the final parting,
when we both had dismounted and sat on the ground for an hour, he
had disclosed nothing. On the contrary, he even admitted that
possibly it was for the best that the other Buford herds had held
a westward course and thus avoided the crush on the main routes.
The only intimation which escaped him was when we had remounted
and each started our way, he called me back and said, "Tom, no
doubt but you've noticed that I'm worried. Well, I am. I'd tell
you in a minute, but I may be wrong in the matter. But I'll know
before you reach Dodge, and then, if it's necessary, you shall
know all. It's nothing about the handling of the herds, for my
foremen have always considered my interests first. Keep this to
yourself, for it may prove a nightmare. But if it should prove
true, then we must stand together. Now, that's all; mum's the
word until we meet. Drop me a line if you get a chance, and don't
let my troubles worry you."

While overtaking the herd, I mused over my employer's last words.
But my brain was too muddy even to attempt to solve the riddle.
The most plausible theory that I could advance was that some
friendly cowmen were playing a joke on him, and that the old man
had taken things too seriously. Within a week the matter was
entirely forgotten, crowded out of mind by the demands of the
hour. The next night, on the Clear Fork of the Brazos, a
stranger, attracted by our camp-fire, rode up to the wagon.
Returning from the herd shortly after his arrival, I recognized