“He’d better not say anything about me,” Dalhart blustered. But Taisie Lockhart’s contemptuous laugh at that was the cruelest thing he had ever heard in all his life. She spurred on and left him. * * * * * Dribbles of the herd continued to come in. The draggled encampment was slow to take on even a little order. The men had begun to lose confidence, to dread their luck. And now was time for a repetition of the scene on the south bank of the Red—another rider must find burial in his blankets. Never had the spirits of the men been so low, the hope of success so faint, the savage irritability of all so unmistakable. It took a day and a half to finish the unhappy duties of the last camp below the Canadian and drive forward the remade herd. It was necessary to follow down the boggy stream to find a sound crossing. Beyond, within a mile or so, lay the main Canadian. Here at least they met no trouble. The spongelike sands had swallowed up the torrents until only an occasional thread of lazily trickling water marked the wide expanse from bank to bank. The cattle, warm and thirsty, seemed disposed to break ranks and explore these little trickles of water, so that the men had enough to do. Dalhart rode moodily, indifferently, on his point. “Damn it, man!” called Del Williams to him, approaching him after one more chase after a wisp of stragglers. “I’d think you could ’tend to your own end part ways somehow!” It was the first time he had spoken to Dalhart in days. Their enmity was smoldering. “I don’t need any help from anybody about handling cows,” retorted the other; “least of all from you.” Del Williams rode straight up to him at what seemed a challenge. “I don’t see you for no cowman, myself,” said he. They sat face to face midway of the dry river bed. “I want to know what you mean,” said Dalhart. “I’ve been as good a hand on this trail as you have.” “I don’t think so. Nothing but luck kept you from drownding that girl crossing the Red. More than that, it was you that let logs come through the cattle when they was swimming the day before. That started the mill. Four hundred cows lost and two men drownded. You was upriver side of the herd.” This was mortal affront, as Del Williams was willing that it should be. At the time both men were unarmed. “You know I won’t stand that,” said Dalhart. “You heard it plain,” rejoined Williams quietly. “Make your play any time you like.” “All right, I will make it! We both said we’d hold off till we struck Abilene. We’ll not both ride south together,” said Dalhart savagely. “I hope not,” smiled Del Williams. “I have got plenty of grief riding in sight of you going north.” Neither man liked to be the first to back his horse. Their actions caught the sight of Nabours, who started back. “Look here!” he began. “What are you two doing here?” “Well,” began Dalhart, “he told me I wasn’t doing my work.”