The work had gone fast and furiously for some time when Douglas touched his father on the arm.
"Dad, look up on the shoulder of old Dead Line!"
John straightened his back and shaded his eyes. A rider leading a
Hereford was coming down the ridge.
"That's Scott's horse, Grover," said Douglas. "Can you make out the rider?"
"Not yet." John continued to stare intently. Others noticed his posture and followed his gaze.
"It's Scott Parsons!" cried Charleton Falkner.
"Shall we go get him?" exclaimed Jimmy Day.
"No. He's starved out and giving up. Let's hear what he has to say," said
John.
The dehorning went on. Half a dozen more bleeding steers had been turned out before Scott, weary, gaunt, haggard beyond words, leading an emaciated young bull, drew rein beside the smaller corral. The roping came to a pause. John twisted a lariat round the neck of a steer he was working on and led it to the fence. The others followed.
"Well, why the committee of welcome?" asked Scott hoarsely. His bloodshot eyes turned from one to another.