There they were, shuffling the dust into an obscuring cloud and beginning to bellow at the sight of the cows in the barnyard.
"Where do you want 'em?" one of the riders called to the girl, as she hurried to meet them.
"Right there, until we can cut out the calves and bring them inside. Just move them along the fence so I can count them, will you?"
"Oh, you'll be able to count 'em without their millin' round none," the rider answered; "they're tired enough to set for their photos without stirrin' a hair."
Was it only because they were tired that they looked so queer, Harry wondered as she moved about among them. A puzzled look replaced her pleased smile. The Durhams were right enough: big, solid, beefy creatures. But the scrubs—was that the way scrubs always looked? She had seen plenty of them on the range, but never had she noticed that they were like these thirty strange odd-come-shorts: here a cow no bigger than a good-sized calf, but carrying the horns of a Texas steer; over there a Jersey-colored steer with a head as big as a buffalo's; calves of every mixture of breed and of no breed at all. She was still standing studying them when she heard the soft thump of hoofs and the voices of two men, and saw Rob and Garnett riding toward her.
"He roped me a couple of miles back and fetched me along," said the forest ranger, pretending as usual that he was there only through necessity. "Told me you were going to have beef stew and dumplings, and he was afeared he couldn't eat it all himself."
He had dropped from his saddle and come up beside her, stepping stiffly on his high-heeled boots as he looked fixedly down at her.
"Beef stew?" She made an effort at a lively reply. "I guess there are some critters in that bunch that won't be good for much else."
"What did you really expect?" Rob inquired mildly.
"I hoped they'd develop enough beef to pay us to ship them for stew," she retorted. "Of course I knew scrubs weren't like blooded stock, but Ludlum said he'd pick mine out."