"I didn't. I just come over here on an errand. Your dad—"
He stopped in some confusion.
"That's all right, Pete," Dave said. "I'm going to call Mr. Carson dad until I find my real one—if I ever do. No matter what happens, even if I do find my real folks, I can't forget that he has been as good as a father to me."
"That's what he has, Dave," said the foreman, solemnly. "An' I hope you don't ever forget that. There's not many folks—not even a fellow's real ones—who can beat th' Old Man. He's th' real stuff an' twenty-four carats fine every time."
Together they urged the now quieted cattle toward the corral.
"As I was sayin'," resumed Focus Pete, "I come over here on a little errand for th' Old Man, an' I thought I'd take a run out here an' see about the prize bunch. It's good I did."
"I should say so!" Dave exclaimed, fervently.
"Wasn't there any one to help you?" asked Pocus Pete.
"Not a soul. I did see Len Molick riding off—sneaking away. I called to him, but he didn't answer."
"How did they break out?" Pete asked next.