“Dirk, you know brands from the Panhandle to Cypress Hills. What d' yuh make of that horse? Where does he come from?” Bart stopped abruptly and rode forward then to receive and drive farther back a galloping AJBar cow which Bud and Stopper had just hazed out of the herd. Dirk squinted at Stopper's brand which showed cleanly in the glossy, new hair of early summer. He spat carefully with the wind and swung over to meet his boss when the cow was safely in the cut herd. “New one on me, Bart. They's a hatchet brand over close to Jackson's Hole, somewhere. Where'd the kid say he was from?” “He wouldn't say, but he's a sure-enough cowhand.” “That there horse ain't been rode down on no long journey,” Dirk volunteered after further scrutiny. And he added with the unconscious impertinence of an old and trusted employee, “Yuh goin' to put him on?” “Already done it--sixty a month,” Bart confided. “That'll bring out what's in him; he's liable to turn out good for the outfit. Showed he'll do what he's told first, and think it over afterwards. I like that there trait in a man.” Dirk pulled his droopy mustache away from his lips as if he wanted to make sure that his smile would show; though it was not a pretty smile, on account of his tobacco-stained teeth. “'S your fun'ral, Bart. I'd say he's from Jackson's Hole, on a rough guess--but I wouldn't presume to guess what he's here fur. Mebby he come across from Black Rim. I can find out, if you say so.” Bud was weaving in and out through the herd, scanning the animals closely. While the two talked he singled out a yearling heifer, let Stopper nose it out beyond the bunch and drove it close to the boss. “Better look that one over,” He called out. “One way, it looks like AJ, and another way I couldn't name it. And the ear looks as if about half of it had been frozen off. Didn't want to run it into the cut until you passed on it.” Bart looked first at Bud, and he looked hard. Then he rode over and inspected the yearling, Dirk close at his heels. “Throw 'er back with the bunch,” He ordered. “That finishes the cut, then,” Bud announced, rubbing his hand along Stopper's sweaty neck. “I kept passing this critter up, and I guess the other boys did the same. But it's the last one, and I thought I'd run her out for you to look over.” Bart grunted. “Dirk, you take a look and see if they've got 'em all. And you, Kid, can help haze the cut up the Flat--the boys'll show you what to do.” Bud, remembering Smoky and Sunfish and his camp, hesitated. “I've got a camp down here by the creek,” He said. “If it's all the same to you, I'll report for work in the morning, if you'll tell me where to head for. And I'll have to arrange somehow to pasture my horses; I've got a couple more at camp.”