old corral. There isn't one chance in a thousand we'll meet any one. Nelson's making hay five miles below here. But if any one should come along when you've roped a steer, get him to examine the brand for you, and of course if the brand isn't yours, let the critter go."
"Where is the old corral from here ?" asked Scott.
"Show him, Doug," ordered Charleton.
The camp had been made just within the tree line below the peak. Above, against the glowing pink of the heavens was etched the suave line of the peak and topping this a heap of rocks, surmounted by a staff. West of the staff and below it projected the top of a dead spruce on which sat an eagle. To this Douglas pointed.
"Down the mountain on a line with the staff and the dead spruce in a thick clump of young aspen, about an acre of it. The old corral is there."
Scott nodded. They broke camp at once and trotted off, each one for himself. The Moose was not yet a cow-pony, but, from Doug's viewpoint at least, he was now quite manageable. Any one in Lost Chief could rope a steer from a well-trained horse. Douglas proposed to repay Scott's sneer by bringing in on his half-broken mount as many animals as either of his companions on their seasoned cow-ponies. And although Doug risked his life a hundred times, four of the dozen fat steers that were milling about in the old corral by nine o'clock had been dragged in by the snorting, trembling Moose.
When Doug closed the bars on his fourth steer, he waited for a short time for Charleton and Scott, but as neither appeared, he set off after another brute. He had ridden a good mile from the corral when he heard the bellow of a bull and a shout from Charleton. He spurred the Moose in the direction of the cry. Democrat
