"My first stampede and back with fifty head," said John to his horse. "Not bad work, and I couldn't have done it but for you."
The storm had spent itself during the night and morning broke gloriously fine. John and Lightning kept the cattle going as fast as their strength would allow, which was all too slow for the boy, who was anxious to show his work to Jerry—his chum, his friend and counsellor, Jerry the grumbler, the good-hearted. He knew that he would appreciate it, though he might joke.
As the bunch appeared on a little rise a short distance from camp, a horseman galloped out to meet them and to help drive them into camp. "Hullo, kid!" said the man, when he got within earshot. "You've done pretty well; biggest bunch that's come in yet."
"Oh, I've had a great old time," John began jubilantly, feeling as if he had not seen a human being for a month and must talk. "See that big spotted steer there, leadin'? Well, I follered that feller eight miles in the dark last night an' he set me a red-hot pace, you bet—but the buckskin here," patting Lite's mud-spattered shoulder, "followed him close all the way."
"Well, you look it; got enough mud on yer to weigh down a team of iron horses."
"How many cattle back?" asked John.
"Only 'bout half the bunch."
"That's too bad," sympathized the boy.
"That's not the worst."
The man stopped, and John noticed for the first time a peculiar expression on his face.