"I don't know what you mean by near," replied George. "The fort is all of a hundred and fifty miles from here, and we are not going toward it. We are going toward Holmes's ranche; and even if we have the best of luck, it will take us two weeks to get there."
"That sounds better," said Bob, who was greatly relieved. "When you spoke of Mr. Wentworth's neighbors, I was afraid that our pleasure-excursion was about to be brought to an end, for he doesn't live so very far from the fort, you know."
"It's just over there," shouted Mr. Wentworth at this moment. "I see cattle, and that proves that the raiders didn't scoop Taylor as they did me. Now look sharp; we've got rounding out enough to do already."
"What does he mean by that?" asked Bob.
"He means that we mustn't allow our cattle to mix in with Mr. Taylor's, for if we do we shall have to round them all out again. By 'rounding out' we mean separating the different herds from each other; and that is something that none but good herdsmen can do. It requires skill and a big stock of patience, I tell you. Just let a few green hands try it, and see how much they would make at it. Why, they would scare the cattle so that they would run clear out of the State."
Although Mr. Wentworth had declared that Mr. Taylor's ranche was "just over there," our friends did not reach it that day, nor until late in the afternoon of the next. Before they got there they knew just what Mr. Taylor's experience with the Kiowa raiders had been, for they had passed two or three of his herds, whose keepers had told them all about it. The Indians had suddenly made their appearance, coming from the south, and driving before them a large number of cattle; and although they had not come within five miles of Mr. Taylor's ranche, they had picked up one of his small herds which happened to be in their path.
Our friends camped that night close by Mr. Taylor's ranche, which proved to be a perfect little fort. It was built of heavy stone, was well supplied with provisions, and defended by five stalwart fellows who were armed with Winchester rifles. The raiders would have had a nice time of it if they had come there. The owner listened in great surprise to Mr. Wentworth's story, made much of his boys, and would not let him and George "round out" the stock that bore his brand.
"You're welcome to the steers, neighbor," said he. "I've got more left than I can take care of if the Kiowas bounce me as earnestly as they did you, and you will need them to help you start a new herd."
This same thing was repeated by every one of the half a dozen other ranchemen to whom Mr. Wentworth offered to surrender their stock. They all sympathized with him, and wanted to aid him by every means in their power. The result was, that our friends arrived within one day's march of their journey's end with just as many cattle as they had when they left the Staked Plains. Although Mr. Wentworth had been "completely cleaned out," he was still worth something like twenty thousand dollars.
George and his party made their last camp a short distance from the cabin of a squatter, who rode over to see them during the evening. He went home about ten o'clock, and George and his companions lay down on their blankets, leaving the herd to the care of four mounted troopers. The latter, who during the journey had exhibited the greatest eagerness to learn something of the mysteries of cattle-herding, had so far progressed in knowledge and skill as to be able to stand guard at night, and to give George and Mr. Wentworth an opportunity to obtain the rest of which they began to stand so much in need. About midnight George mounted his horse and rode around the herd to assure himself that everything was just as it should be. He went on horseback, because everybody rides while working about Texas cattle. If a man should venture among them on foot during the daytime, his life would be in danger; and if he went around them at night, he would probably stampede the whole herd.