WITH the nine hundred sixty odd cattle of the Crooked Creek drive safe in the shipping pens at the freight yards at Wyanne, and with the receipt for the same in his pocket, a great load was lifted from the mind of Hank Brodie. His cow-punchers also shared in this relief and entered into the remainder of their visit in Wyanne with the exuberance of school boys. It had been a hard drive although not a very long one, but the stampede, considering the size of the herd, had been a serious one. Even such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony Perkins admitted that they had had enough for the present.
The cow-punchers spent the following day in resting up after their arduous labors with the drive, and looking about the town. In the afternoon they visited the military post and had a little practice on the soldiers' polo grounds.
For the secondary object of the cow-punchers' visit to Wyanne was the playing of a match polo game with the Gray Horse Troop. This event had been announced to the town and to all the surrounding coun-
