“No,” laughed Chet. “One fellow didn’t know anything but ‘Beulah Land’—and after you’ve heard it sung a thousand times, you get tired of it. The regular cattle-herding songs have hundreds of verses to them; but the tunes get monotonous, too, after a while.” “I should think so!” ejaculated Digby. “D’you know, I thought cattle herding was more boisterous.” “You’ve driven cows to pasture, haven’t you?” “Yes. For old man Feltman. He has seven,” Digby said. “Multiply his seven by a thousand and you have a good-sized trail herd. Only there will be more crippled and strayed animals left behind a regular herd. And coyotes, wolves, and bears to pick them up.” “Whew! Maybe we can find a wolf on this trail,” cried Dig. “I hope not! There’s nothing wickeder in this country than a grey wolf,” declared Chet Havens. “Why! I thought they were cowards. Everybody says: ‘As cowardly as a wolf.’” “Then everybody is mistaken,” said Chet firmly. “Don’t you fool yourself. They are not like coyotes. Rafe has told me that an old she wolf, especially with young, will go out of her way to attack man.” “Gidap!” exclaimed Dig. “Rafe was stringing you.” “I don’t think so. And when they run in packs, I’ve read that wolves are very dangerous indeed.” “Well! we might find a maverick along this trail,” urged Dig. “Say! a yearling that hadn’t been branded might sell for a few dollars at Grub Stake.” “Goodness me! Do you think for a minute we can stop to drive a dogy all the way to Grub Stake?” laughed Chet. “Huh! you’d stop for that big buffalo, all right, all right, if you saw him.” “I expect I would,” admitted his chum. “Wouldn’t you?” “If I ever see a buffalo—Say, Chet! why do they call them ‘mavericks’?” “They don’t.” “What d’you mean, they don’t? Of course they do. Unbranded calves—” “Oh!” chuckled Chet. “You got me twisted. I thought you meant the buffaloes.” “Oh! Don’t be funny.” “Why, mavericks are unbranded cattle—usually yearlings. Called such, so I’ve read, because a certain cattleman in Texas, named Colonel Maverick, refused to brand his cattle. All the other cattle owners did, so Maverick claimed all unbranded stock.” “Oh!” “It was a sharp trick, you see,” Chet said. “He gathered in lots of cattle that way. Cowpunchers made a joke of it at first. They called every stray and unbranded beast a ‘maverick.’ The name stuck.” The boys crossed the cattle trail, for it came up from the south through a pass between the hills there, while the faint trace they were following took them almost due west. The stream flowed with them, and during the afternoon they were never far from its bank.