ownership of certain mavericks. It had ended with the triumph of
Slim Degnan, foreman of Mr. Merkel's holdings.

And so the round-up went on, the heat, the dust, the noise and
confusion increasing as calf after calf, maverick after maverick,
was branded, and the steers to be shipped were cut out, to be
hazed over to the railroad stock yards.

And yet, with all the seeming confusion, there was order and
system in the work.

"Well, I guess this is the last," remarked Mr. Merkel to his son,
as Bud, with his cousins, rode slowly up to the ranch house, when
the final calf had been cut out and the tally made. "You boys
going back after grub?"

"Yep," answered Bud, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
He, like his cousins, was too tired. For the day had been a
grueling one, with the heat and hard work.

"You sure did make out a whole lot better than I ever thought you
would," said Mr. Merkel, as he rode along with his son and
nephew's. "Putting water into that valley made a big difference."

"I should say so!" exclaimed Bud. "Our stock will lay over
anything you will ship from any of your three ranches, Dad!"

"I wouldn't wonder but what you are right, Bud! Well, let's wash
up and eat."