"Yes, lots of 'em," answered the Brady man. "An' they're deep too. I was ridin' along with my bunch last spring, spurrin' my horse to get ahead of the critters, when he went plump into a blamed hole—and he's there yet. I only got away by the skin of my teeth."
"I guess I'm in great luck to get through this safe," said John. "I was never on this range till after dark to-night."
"Horses all there?" inquired the other, nodding towards John's charges.
"Sure. But I guess I'd better count 'em."
"My horses are like a lot of sheep. I'll go along with you."
The two rounded the animals together again and counted them as well as the darkness would allow. They agreed that they numbered fifty-six and John breathed easier.
And so the first night passed, the two herders chatting pleasantly till dawn, when they parted, agreeing to meet some other night.
A little before daybreak John rounded up his bunch and began driving them in the direction of the camp. When daylight came he counted them again and to his satisfaction found them all there. In spite of the tiresome trip of the day before, the hard riding of the preceding evening, and the long night's vigil, he felt as gay as the lark that soared overhead pouring out a song entirely out of proportion in volume to its size. He hummed blithely an Indian war chant, made over for the occasion, and breathed in the early morning fragrance with a feeling of exhilaration that made him forget for the time that he had gone to work the night before supperless and had not put his teeth into anything edible since.