One big steer he especially watched. It was a large red and white steer, with a sore hoof which did not heal. Every now and again a portion of the herd was separated and driven in to Fort Leavenworth for another trip across the plains; and new bunches took their places, to rest up again. But the old red and white steer stayed. He was foot sore, but he also was a wanderer, for he loved to stray. Several times during each day he would edge out farther and farther, leading some of his cronies; and in due time Davy must ride in front of him and turn him back. He was a pesky animal, and caused much trouble; the third herder wanted him killed, but Davy and Mr. Baxter only laughed and kept persuading Hank to save him. After all, he was only a steer, with a mind of his own. Maybe he would get well. Davy rather hoped that he wouldn’t; he seemed to have such a good time, and the worked cattle were so gaunt and scarred when they returned from their long, hard trips. Now it was November of 1858. The days were shorter, the nights were colder, the grass was failing, and Indian summer was about to end. Soon the herds would be taken off the plains, for the snow was due and there would not be enough feed. One day Mr. Baxter was ill in camp; the other herder was off, and Davy found himself left on herd alone for a brief time. This he did not mind. He felt capable of handling the herd himself. So he slowly rode around and around, occasionally halting for a survey of the landscape. This week the herd had drifted farther than usual from the trail and from the settlements, to the very edge of the Salt Creek Valley, where in numerous pockets amidst low hill the grass was still abundant. Davy never understood exactly how it happened, but all of a sudden he missed the red and white lame ox. His eyes ran rapidly over the herd, seeking the old fellow. The red and white ox was a “marker”; when he was present then the chances were that the herd was holding together, but when he was absent then something must be done at once. Well, he was absent; he was not even in sight. This meant that probably he had led off a dozen or so followers. From his mule Davy cast keen gaze over the herd and over the surrounding rolling country. “Gwan!” he ordered to his mouse-colored mule, and striking into a gallop he set off on a wide circle. From the top of the nearest rise he saw nothing moving. But the top of the second gave him a wide view――and he saw something of much interest. There, about half a mile from him, and out in the open, was a line of moving dots. He made out the red and white steer――he recognized the color and the limp. At least a dozen other cattle were with him. They were strung out in a little group; and behind, several horsemen were driving them. Yes, actually driving them! Indians! Indians were driving off a bunch of strays!