"What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love to hear about it."
"Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and they were scattered all through the hills."
A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, and removed his hat. "We rode through them horses that runs over on the east slope an' they're all right—leastways all the markers is there, an' the bunches don't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them white faces—Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'em over onto Sage Crick."
The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about six hundred of the white faces, aren't there?"
"Yessum."
"And how long will the water last in Lodgepole?"
"Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git no rain."
"How long will it take to throw them onto Sage Creek?"
"Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this time o' year. The four of us had ort to do it in three or four days."
The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle will have to wait. I want you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from Vil Holland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stay right here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ride fences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the big pasture."