"Getting ready for rain," announced the foreman, glancing up at the gathering clouds. "That will mean water for the stock, anyway." Already the great herd was up and grazing when the cowboys reached them. But there was no time now for the animals to satisfy their appetites. They were supposed to have eaten amply since daylight. The trail was to be taken up again and by the time the steers were bedded down at night, they should be all of fifteen miles nearer the Diamond D. Ranch for which they were headed. The start was a matter of keen interest to the Pony Riders. To set the herd in motion, cowboys galloped along the sides of the line giving vent to their shrill, wolf-keyed yell, while others pressed forward directly in the rear. As soon as the cattle had gotten under way six men were detailed on each side, and in a short time the herd was strung out over more than a mile of the trail. Two riders known as "point men" rode well back from the leaders, and by riding forward and closing in occasionally, were able to direct the course of the drive. Others, known as "swing men," rode well out from the herd, their duty being to see that none of the cattle dropped out or strayed away. Once started, the animals required no driving. This was a matter of considerable interest to the Pony Riders. "Don't they ever stop to eat?" asked Tad of the foreman. "Occasionally. When they do, we have to start them along without their knowing we are doing so. It's a good rule to go by that you never should let your herd know they are under restraint. Yet always keep them going in the proper direction." The trail wagon, carrying the cooking outfit and supplies, was not forgotten. Drawn by a team of four mules, the party seldom allowed it to get far away from them, and never, under ordinary circumstances, out of their sight. The driver walked beside the mules, while the grinning face of Pong was always to be seen in the front end of the wagon. He was the only member of the outfit who never seemed to mind the broiling mid-day heat. He was riding there on this hot forenoon, never leaving his seat until the foreman, by a gesture, indicated that the herd was soon to be halted for its noonday meal. While the cattle were grazing, the cowboys would fall to and satisfy their own appetites. After the cattle had finally been halted, three men were left on guard while the others rode back to the rear of the line. In the meantime Pong had been preparing the dinner, which was ready almost as soon as the men had cast aside their hats. "When it comes to cooking for an outfit like this, a Chinaman beats anything in the world," laughed Stallings. "At least, this Chinaman does." Pong was too busy to do more than grin at the compliment, even if he fully grasped the meaning of it. The meal was nearly half-finished when the cowpunchers were startled by a volley of revolver shots accompanied by a chorus of shrill yells.