Soon as Jeff, the cow foreman, seen the wagons lining out in good shape for that night's camp he put his horse in a high lope and looking back at the boys that was doing their best in putting up a ride on the sun-fishing ponies, he grinned as he seen that all stuck on and fanned, and felt mighty proud of being the cow boss of such a bunch of riders. Clint was riding a big "apelusa" called Chapo, and one of the best circle horses the outfit had, but he wasn't appreciating him much just then, and as he rode along leaving the wagons and remuda to his left his eyes was a whole lot on the dust that remuda made, and a trying to get a glimpse of a mouse colored piece of horseflesh which he'd called Smoky. But Smoky was getting along fine as he trotted and loped along on the trail of the wagons. He'd no more than left Clint by the rope corral when he run acrost that brother of his again and after the two nickered "Howdedoos" at one another they trailed along side by side, plum contented with everything in general. The sound of the dozen or so bells that was strapped to the necks of the oldest and wisest ponies was new and mighty pleasant to Smoky's ears and it was good to be roaming again and with so much company. It was middle afternoon when the pilot came to a big creek bottom and circled by a grove of willows and cottonwoods. The second camp of that day was made, the wrangler let the remuda come to a walk and pretty soon left 'em to graze on towards the creek a half a mile below camp, and as he seen that all seemed contented to graze, drink, and roll, he left 'em to go and put up the rope corral, snake in wood for the cook, and whatever other things that's all the responsibilities of the wrangatang. He kept one eye on the ponies as he worked and if any restless bronc showed indications of wanting to start drifting that boy jumped on his horse, turned him, and watched for a spell till that bronc seemed satisfied to stay. Many a wrangler had used the excuse of "hard-to-hold ponies" just so he could get away from too much work, and most always it was a mighty good excuse too. But Smoky and Pecos, which was his brother, had give no such a excuse to the wrangler. They both seemed mighty satisfied, and after they'd had a good drink in the cool stream, and a good roll afterwards put their time in getting away with all the blue joint grass they could. Every once in a while Smoky would raise his head, and chewing on a mouthful of the tall feed, would look up at the ridges around him, then towards the camp and wonder at the noise the cook was making with his pots and pans. All had him interested, it was all new, and with the nicker he'd often hear from one side of the scattered remuda and then the other, the steady ring of the horse bells and all, the little horse wasn't hankering for anything only just what he was in the thick of.