"No doubt it was easy enough twenty-five years ago," he said at last, "but there are too many people in here now that have got something to say about who's going to make all the money in cattle. If the ranchers won't sell their hay, we'll have to do without. That's all." "I guess we can get all we need on the flat," Harry said quickly. "They aren't short of water up there, thank goodness." "Yes, plenty of water so far; but don't forget it isn't too late for the June freeze." The June freeze! Harry had forgotten that yearly menace. Only the year before it had hit the prairie and had wiped out every little "truck patch," blackened every acre of potatoes, and seared thousands of acres of alfalfa. As if the thin fingers of that very June frost had folded round her wrist, Harry felt her warm blood chill. Fear, however, was not natural to her. The reaction came, and through the following week, while waiting for the new cattle to arrive, her confidence in ultimate victory renewed itself. Ludlum had told her that he would send the white-face bunch up by riders who would round up the scrubs on the way and bring the whole lot in at once. Daily Harry expected to see them come down the draw. At the same time she was waiting for Rob, who had been gone for several days hunting hay on the flat. By sunset on Saturday she had given up hope of seeing any one that week; but as she was feeding the calves, in the corral, a hostile growl from 'Thello made her turn quickly to see a slow-moving string of cattle wind down the draw. "My herd!" she exclaimed, and dropped her empty bucket. "They've come." There they were, shuffling the dust into an obscuring cloud and beginning to bellow at the sight of the cows in the barnyard. "Where do you want 'em?" one of the riders called to the girl, as she hurried to meet them. "Right there, until we can cut out the calves and bring them inside. Just move them along the fence so I can count them, will you?" "Oh, you'll be able to count 'em without their millin' round none," the rider answered; "they're tired enough to set for their photos without stirrin' a hair." Was it only because they were tired that they looked so queer, Harry wondered as she moved about among them. A puzzled look replaced her pleased smile. The Durhams were right enough: big, solid, beefy creatures. But the scrubs--was that the way scrubs always looked? She had seen plenty of them on the range, but never had she noticed that they were like these thirty strange odd-come-shorts: here a cow no bigger than a good-sized calf, but carrying the horns of a Texas steer; over there a Jersey-colored steer with a head as big as a buffalo's; calves of every mixture of breed and of no breed at all. She was still standing studying them when she heard the soft thump of hoofs and the voices of two men, and saw Rob and Garnett riding toward her.