Before he could act, however, the stray herd had once more mingled and merged with his own. The work of the cowboys had gone for naught.
Stallings fired three shots into the air as a signal to his men to stop their cutting out.
"Will you young men do me a favor?" he asked.
"Certainly, Mr. Stallings," answered Tad.
"Then ride around the herd and tell the boys not to try any more cutting out until the herd has quieted down. The dust is so thick that we can't do anything with the cows, anyway. You have some sense, but that's more than I can say for your friend, Brown. Of all the idiotic—oh, what's the use? Tell him to mind his own business and keep half a mile away from this herd for the rest of the afternoon."
"All right, sir. Where did those cattle come from?"
"I don't know, Tad. They have broken away from some nearby ranch. Probably somebody has cut a wire fence and let them out. That's the worst of the wire fence in the modern cow business. They can get through wire without being seen. But they can't get by a cowpuncher without his seeing them."
"How many cattle do you think have got mixed with ours?"
"I should imagine there were all of five hundred of them," answered the foreman.
Tad uttered a long-drawn whistle of astonishment.