herd came faintly, telling of the unrest so characteristic of those beasts, known well to Texas from many a long night watch. Winch came to him where he stood listening to the long, plaintive calls of the cattle, something in them so expressive of lonesomeness and longing for their native plains that it was almost as moving as a human appeal.
"Hartwell, we've talked over your case, and some of them think maybe there's something to that story you told about them fellers ropin' you. We're goin' to give you the benefit of the doubt, as the old man says."
"All right," said Texas, not able to warm up very readily toward Winch, speaking rather crabbed and short.
"We're goin' to give you a chance to prove you're square with us and set yourself right, kid. You're a cowman; you know Texas cattle, I guess, better than any of us."
"I wouldn't set up any such wide claims, sir."
"That herd's uneasy; you can feel it clear over here. It was the same last night—I heard them turn the point of a stampede three or four times. If you want to square yourself, you go over there to-night and stampede that herd toward the line. Start 'em tow I ard Texas once and they'll go at a blind lope till they drop. Then you can come back—clean."
