“How is this thing going to be squared with the mining people?” The sky blue eyes of the old cattleman twinkled. Doc Steele was somehow reminded of the sun shining through summer rain. “I bought the damn’ mine, Doc. Last fall. I don’t think that anything more need be said about that fool holdup. Buck Bell saved what cattle I have left. God and Buck Bell alone know how he managed. You should have seen what I saw. The whole range spotted with dead critters. Like a boneyard a hundred miles square. We’d rode all day across a cow country graveyard. When I heard cattle bawling, I thought I was dreaming. That herd trailing up out of the breaks. A man too weak to walk, riding behind ’em, singing-- It was something, Doc, that a man won’t ever forget.” They filled their glasses and drank in silence. Then they tiptoed out and Buck Bell slept on, a smile of peace on his frost cracked lips. Outside, the chinook wind whispered its promise to the cow country. [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 1, 1928 issue of Adventure magazine.]