The deepest of regret was naturally expressed.  The jocular remarks of the foreman, the actions of the wrangler, were instantly recalled to the surrounding group, while the negligence which caused the accident was politely suppressed.  The stranger, innocently unaware of any mistake on his part, lent a valuable hand in stanching the blood and in washing and binding up the wounds.  No bones were injured, and with youth and a buoyant constitution, there was every hope of recovery.

However, some disposition must be made of the wounded man.  No one could recall a house or settlement nearer than the Republican River, unless down the Beaver, which was uncertain, when the visitor came to the rescue.  He was positive that some two years before, an old soldier had taken a homestead five or six miles above the trail crossing on the Beaver.  He was insistent, and the foreman yielded so far as to order the herd grazed forward to the Beaver, which was some ten miles distant in their front.  All the blankets in the outfit were accordingly brought into use, in making a comfortable bed in the wagon, and the caravan started, carrying the wounded man with it.  Taking the stranger with him, the foreman bore away in the direction of the supposed homestead, having previously sent two men on an opposite angle, in search of any settlement down the creek.

The visitor’s knowledge of the surrounding country proved to be correct.  About six miles above the trail crossing, the Beaver, fringed with willows, meandered through a narrow valley, in which the homestead was located.  The presence of the willows was an indication of old beaver dams, which the settler had improved until the water stood in long, placid pools.  In response to their hail, two boys, about fourteen and sixteen years of age, emerged from the dug-out and greeted the horsemen.  On inquiry, it proved that their father had died during the previous winter, at a settlement on the Solomon River, and the boys were then confronted with the necessity of leaving the claim to avoid suffering want.  It was also learned that their mother had died before their father had taken the homestead, and therefore they were left orphans to fight their own battle.

The boys gave their names as Joel and Dell Wells.  Both were bright-eyed and alert, freckled from the sun, ragged and healthy.  Joel was the oldest, broad-shouldered for his years, distant by nature, with a shock of auburn hair, while Dell’s was red; in height, the younger was the equal of his brother, talkative, and frank in countenance.  When made acquainted with the errand of the trail boss, the older boy shook his head, but Dell stepped forward:  “Awful sorry,” said he, with a sweep of his hand, “but our garden failed, and there won’t be a dozen roasting-ears in that field of corn.  If hot winds don’t kill it, it might make fodder.  We expect to pull out next week.”

“Have you no cows?” inquired the trail foreman.