ganized retreat, the bulls bringing up the rear and guarding the sides most chivalrously, the cows and calves running in the middle. It was near sundown and the lateral beams of light made gorgeous play on the clouds of dust kicked up by the heavy creatures. Lander kept up the chase for a mile or more, then gave it up as useless and cursing his luck rode back to the company.
When he entered camp he was struck by the silence of the men and their averted faces. When one did look at him, especially if it were Rummy or Porker, he read keen hate in the furtive glance. Bridger sat alone before his small tent, his hands hanging limply over his knees, his brown hair brushed back, and his gray eyes frowning savagely.
"Lander, come here," he sternly called out.
Much puzzled Lander advanced and stood at attention.
"Why did you raise the buffaloes?" curtly demanded Bridger, his eyes now blazing with suppressed wrath.
"Raise the buffaloes," Lander faltered. "Why, I saw some fat cows. I wanted to kill some and bring the boys some real meat. The sheep was bad enough when we had it."
