Besides, in this sun they might die on the road."

"Hum."

"Let them drink; they'll go on afterwards."

"Hum." And the Elder remained for some moments silent. Then he said, as
if thinking aloud: "It's eight miles to Eureka; they'll be thirsty again
before they get to the town."

Bancroft, too, had had his wits at work, and now answered the other's
thought. "I guess so; if they're allowed just a mouthful or two they can
be driven, and long before they reach Eureka they'll be as thirsty as
ever."

Without a word in reply the Elder turned his horse and started off at a
lope. In ten minutes the two men had taken down the snake fence for a
distance of some fifty yards, and the cattle had rushed through the gap
and were drinking greedily.

After they had had a deep draught or two, Bancroft urged his horse into
the stream and began to drive them up the bank. They went easily enough
now, and ahead of them rode the Elder, his long whitey-brown holland
coat fluttering behind him. In half an hour Bancroft had got the herd
into the corral. The Elder counted the three hundred and sixty-two
beasts with painstaking carefulness as they filed by.

The prairie-track to Eureka led along the creek, and in places ran close
to it without any intervening fence. In an hour under that hot October
sun the cattle had again become thirsty, and it needed all Bancroft's