About twelve miles or so from camp a knoll was reached; from there Jeff "scattered" his riders to circle and comb the country on the way back, Clint and another rider was the last to be let go, and on the "inside" brought with 'em all the cattle they found. Half ways back to camp, Smoky begin to notice big dusts on both sides of him, them dusts kept a getting closer and closer till pretty soon he begin to see that it was more cattle making them dusts. Herds kept a being drove in with the bunch Clint and the other rider had rounded up, and by the time camp was reached, all the dusts had throwed in and made one. Twenty or more riders and over a thousand head of cattle was turned to the cutting grounds and held there a milling. Smoky was tired, he'd been breathing dust and turning bleary-eyed critters till it seemed like there'd be no end. Besides it felt awful hot on his back where the saddle was, and even tho Clint often got off, uncinched the saddle and raised it so the cool air could circulate thru, it wasn't long when his back, not used to long saddling, would feel as hot as ever again. It was a great relief to the little horse when the saddle was pulled off as they reached camp and the rope corral. Clint then led him to the creek and washed the dry sweat off his back with the cool water, and as that was done Smoky right away forgot the work of that first circle. He felt a lot at ease with everything in general as Clint turned him loose in the corral, and a while later when fresh horses was caught and ropes begin sailing again, Smoky wasn't for hunting a hole like the times before, he felt that he'd done his.--Pecos was snared while standing a few feet from him, and then the ponies was turned loose. But there Smoky lagged behind a little; he'd spotted Clint who was saddling another horse, and he stood in his tracks, watching, and maybe wondering. Then the wrangler came, and Smoky followed the remuda up the draw. Plenty of grass, under, and all around him, and chance to stand still was for the first time appreciated by the mouse colored gelding. He'd had a taste of real work, the first taste, and with it had come the feeling that he wasn't no half broke bronc no more. He was even beginning to look at the critter with a knowing eye and something was sprouting up in him which left no doubt but what _he_ was the boy that could handle 'er. He never figgered on how much there was to learn in the ways of handling that split-hoofed range animal,--he'd had no way to know as yet, and as it was he grazed feeling sure that he knowed a lot about 'em. He felt equal to the old saddle marked cowhorses that was in the same remuda and he wouldn't have nothing to do with the raw broncs that was mixed in. But there that high opinion of himself was stopped, for the old cowhorses wouldn't let him associate with 'em and as they'd chase him away, he failed to notice that they felt the same about him as he did about the uneddicated raw broncs.