"Where's that feller that refused a drink this evenin'?" he demanded facetiously. "He's the boy fer second guard--good and reliable--and Hinglish, too. Hinglish, I'll ask you and yore Mormon friend, Mr. Clark, to kindly stand the second guard. Bud and Bill third, and Jack and Buck fourth. I'm boss now, and I don't stand guard." "Oh, thunder!" grumbled Brig, as he threw himself down on his bed. "I wish the boss would come back. Them rounders will stay in town all night. Let's take a little flier ourselves," he urged as Bowles lay down beside him. "We can git back in time!" But a sudden sense of responsibility had come over Bowles as he observed how the crowd faded away, and he held Brigham to his post. At ten-thirty, in response to a hurried summons, they took a spare blanket for warmth and rode out to stand their guard. The stars wheeled round in their courses and sank down in the west; the horses shifted about on the barren plain and made their customary efforts to escape; and when the first cold light of dawn crept in, it showed "Hinglish" and his Mormon friend still standing their lonely vigil. But for once in a lifetime self-sacrificing virtue got its reward, for Henry Lee came riding out with his buyer at daylight and discovered them at their post. He did not say much--in fact he did not say anything--and Brigham and Bowles did the same; but there was a difference in the air. At last Bowles had justified his existence--he had stayed with his job to the end. There was a hurried searching of the town for Bat Wing cowboys, a straggling return of drunken and mutinous punchers, and then, with barely men enough to man the gates, the work of shipping began. By twos and threes the dogies were driven down a lane; the cattle inspector read the brands and made his tally, and the buyer passed them on or cut them back. Then, as the cutting and re-cutting was finished, the cattle were punched up the chutes and crowded into the cars. As the day wore on, more and more of the hands returned and took up the prod pole; but Henry Lee made no remarks. Even when his trusted straw-boss showed up late, he made no comment; but once back in camp he pulled his book like a pistol, and began to write out checks. "Well, boys," he said, "you were drunk last night; I'll have to give you your time. Hardy, you're a good cow-hand, but I'll have to let you go, too. So here's your time checks; and turn your horses out. I've got to have men I can trust."