The shot had so thoroughly bled the antelope that it was unnecessary to cut its throat, and when it was ripped up all the blood in its body seemed to have gathered in the visceral cavity. Before the antelope was dressed Jack Mason came up with their horses. "My!" he exclaimed, bending over and resting on the saddle-horn as he watched the boys at work, "that's a fine head. You don't often see one like that. Why don't you take it, Donald, and carry it back to the old country to ornament the walls of your baronial hall?" "I believe I will, Mason," said Donald; "and when I get it hung on those walls, I'll invite you and Claib Wood to come over and give us your little barroom act. We can have lots of Western color in the village where I live, with just a few of the properties." Mason laughed. "I believe it would have been better if I'd killed Claib," he said. "You fellow's wouldn't have so much to josh about then." The two following days spent at this camp resulted in the capture of three more buck antelope, and the next morning camp was broken and the wagon started back to the basin. Donald drove, while Jack Mason and Jack Danvers rode well out on the prairie and rounded up all the cattle they could see and drove them slowly toward the ranch. In the early part of the day the cattle were slow to move, but after the sun got hotter and more directly overhead they seemed to work along better, and shortly after noon had the appearance of really striking out after water, which, of course, in due time they found. At the place where the road crossed the water Donald had stopped, unhitched his team, taken off the bridles and tied the animals out to feed; and Mason and Jack were delighted when they came in sight of the camp to see Donald fussing about the fire and to find a good meal just about ready. A few hours later the cattle were turned loose just outside the big pasture beyond the lake, and the little hunting party rode up to the ranch, its mission accomplished. CHAPTER XXV THE DANCE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE The weeks went by. Haying time came and all hands were busy cutting, hauling and stacking. The winter had been one of heavy snows, and water was plentiful in the irrigating ditches. Rains had been more frequent than usual that spring and summer, and in many a little meadow, too small for fencing, there was a growth of grass worth cutting. One of the labors of the summer about which the men growled bitterly was the never-ending work of keeping the range cattle away from these little unfenced pieces, in order to protect the growing grass. The cattle returned again and again to these patches of fresh green grass, and the men were forced to exercise constant vigilance to keep them off the meadows.