And the
following day, through the trying work of loading the cattle, the young
foreman was so little like himself that, had it not been that his men
were nearly all old-time, boyhood friends who had known him all his
life, there would surely have been a mutiny.
It was late in the afternoon, when the last reluctant steer was prodded
and pushed up the timbered runway from the pens, and crowded into the
car. Curly and Bob were going with the cattle train. The others would
remain at Skull Valley until morning, when they would start for their
widely separated homes. Phil announced that he was going to the home
ranch that night.
"You can make it home sometime to-morrow, Patches," he finished, when
he had said good-by to the little group of men with whom he had lived
and worked in closest intimacy through the long weeks of the rodeo. He
reined his horse about, even as he spoke, to set out on his long ride.
The Cross-Triangle foreman was beyond hearing of the cowboys when
Patches overtook him. "Do you mind if I go back to the Cross-Triangle
with you to-night, Phil?" the cowboy asked quietly.
Phil checked his horse and looked at his friend a moment without
answering.
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