"You are the right stuff, kid," he muttered. "If you stayed in this business you'd be a foreman before you knew it. You are a heap sight better than a lot of them now. Fall in. I'll ride around on the other side of the herd, and urge them along from the rear. You ride up to the right of the line and keep them pointed. Follow our trail. You will make out the main herd very soon."
With renewed strength, Tad went at his work, though it was with an effort that he kept his saddle. He was afraid he must collapse before reaching the camp, and his straining eyes kept searching for the herd and the white-topped wagon that he knew held what he needed most of all at that moment—drink and food!
Soon Tad and the foreman made out a rising cloud of dust approaching them at a rapid rate. Stallings waved his hand toward the cloud and nodded to Tad, being too far away to call.
The lad shook his head in reply. He understood what the foreman meant. Men were coming to their assistance and the boy was to push on for camp alone.
The cowpunchers began to laugh as they rode up and observed the boy's tattered condition.
"So the Pinto got a dose this time, eh?" jeered Lumpy Bates.
"You shut up!" snarled Big-foot Sanders, turning on him menacingly. "He's brought them cows back, and I'll bet a new saddle it's more'n you could have done. Don't you see the kid's near all in? Here you, Pinto, you hike for camp!" he shouted.
"I'm staying with the cattle," announced Tad, firmly.
"Cattle nothing. It's the camp for yours and mighty quick!"
Without waiting for argument Big-foot grasped the reins of Tad's bridle and whirling his own mount about, galloped away, fairly dragging Tad Butler and his tired pony after him.