They went into camp immediately, above a big, fine spring on a slope of the meadow, which is called Minto Pasture. The horses were unsaddled and unloaded, hobbled, and sent out to graze their fill. Tents were strung between some trees on the edge of the big natural clearing. Dry wood was gathered, and supper got under way. They were more than 5,000 feet up here, and the minute the sun set it grew very cold, with a strong, bitter wind blowing down from the snow-draped mountain. There were snow-drifts in the woods beyond the spring. Everybody got into sweaters, and huddled around the boiling coffee-pot. Even Jeff snuggled up close to Bennie—but that might have been because he was hungry and was looking for food.
He got the scrapings from all the dishes, and the last batch of pancakes, which nobody else had room for, and then went bounding off again, barking and wheeling amid the grass and flowers.
“Great dog, that!” Bennie declared.
“Well, here come some cattle. Let’s see how good a dog he is,” Norman grinned, pointing up the pasture.
Sure enough, a herd of cattle, turned out to range wild during the summer, was breaking out of the woods.
“They’ll be around all night, and walk all over camp, and get into the spring, if we don’t chase ’em off,” Norman went on. “Sic your sheep dog on ’em, Bennie.”
Bennie whistled to Jeff, and then pointed to the cattle.
“Sic ’em, Jeff! Drive ’em away!” he said.
Jeff gave a yelp, jumped madly around in a circle—and then ran barking loudly directly toward a bird sitting in a low tree, singing its evening song!
“Yes, that’s a great dog,” remarked Uncle Billy.