Prudence required that the cattle should be treated considerately, especially at the beginning 221 of the long journey, for it was to the interests of the owners that they should arrive at their destination in good condition. Like men in training for a pedestrian contest, particular care was needed at the start to prevent a general breakdown. After a few days the beasts, if well used, would be able to stand much more.
It, therefore, lacked considerable of night when the final halt was made, and the cattle were allowed to crop the grass until they became sated and chose to lie down.
The men in charge of the other herd were equally thoughtful, for they came to a pause about the same time, with nearly a mile separating the camps. It was hardly dark, indeed, when a horseman was seen approaching from the southward, on an easy gallop, and there was no doubt that he belonged to the other party.
“It’s my old friend Sclevinger,” said Captain Shirril, recognizing the visitor, as he saluted, and, checking his steed beside that of the old Texan, extended his hand, with the heartiest of salutations.
“I suspected it was you,” said the new arrival, whose pleasant countenance was covered by as shaggy a growth as that of the captain, “and I concluded I would run over and shake hands.”
“That’s right, pard. I’m mighty glad to see you; you must take supper with us.”
“Thank you, I guess I will,” replied Sclevinger, dismounting and accepting the invitation as readily as it was given; “I tried to run in my herd ahead of you this afternoon,” he added, with a twinkle of his fine eyes, “but I couldn’t quite make it.”
“We saw what you were up to, and we had to bestir ourselves to head you off. How many have you, colonel?”
“Only about twelve hundred––that is, I had twelve hundred, when I started from the ranch two days ago, but we lost nearly a hundred yesterday.”