The entire morning was spent working with the remuda. Once a man knew his mount, extra attention was shown each horse. There were witches’ bridles to be removed from their manes, extra long tails were thinned out to the proper length, and all hoofs trimmed short. The horses were fast shedding their winter coats, matting the saddle blankets with falling hair, and unless carefully watched, galled backs would result. The branding-irons had been altered en route, and about noon a vaquero came down the river and reported that the second round-up of the day would meet just over the county line in Dimmit. He belonged at Los Lobos, and reported the morning rodeo as containing over five hundred beeves, which would be ready for delivery at our pleasure. We made him remain for dinner, after which Flood and I saddled up and returned with him. We reached the round-up just as the cutting-out finished. They were a fine lot of big rangy beeves, and Jim suggested that we pass upon them at once. The seller agreed to hold them overnight, and Flood and I culled back about one hundred and twenty which were under age or too light. The round-up outfit strung the cattle out and counted them, reporting a few over seven hundred head. This count was merely informal and for the information of the seller; but in the morning the final one would be made, in which we could take a hand. After the cut had started in for the ranch, we loitered along, looking them over, and I noticed several that might have been thrown out. “Well, now,” said Flood, “if you are going to be so very choice as all that, I might as well ride on. You can’t use me if that bunch needs any more trimming. I call them a fine lot of beeves. It’s all right for Don to rib the boys up and make them think that the cattle have to be top-notchers. I’ve watched him receive too often; he’s about the easiest man I know to ring in short ages on. Just so a steer looks nice, it’s hard for the old man to turn one back. I’ve seen him receiving three-year-olds, when one fourth of the cattle passed on were short twos. And if you call his attention to one, he’ll just smile that little smile of his, and say, ‘yes, he may be shy a few months, but he’ll grow.’ But then that’s just old man Don’s weakness for cattle; he can’t look a steer in the face without falling in love with him. Now, I’ve received before when by throwing out one half the stock offered, you couldn’t get as uniform a bunch of beeves as those are. But you go right ahead, Tom, and be sure that every hoof you accept will dress five hundred pounds at Fort Buford. I’ll simply sit around and clerk and help you count and give you a good chance to make a reputation.”