“I just wanted to roll him in the dirt to make him grow,” explained Forrest to an elderly man who accompanied him.  “These are my boys.  Look at that red-headed rascal—­fat as a calf with two mothers.  Boys, shake hands with Mr. Lovell.”

The drover alighted and greeted the boys with fatherly kindness.  He was a frail man, of medium height, nearly sixty years of age, with an energy that pulsed in every word and action.  There was a careworn expression in his face, while an intensity of purpose blazed from hungry, deep-set eyes which swept every detail of the scene at a glance.  That he was worried to the point of exhaustion was evident the moment that compliments were exchanged.

“Show me your water supply,” said he to Joel; “old beaver ponds, if I am correctly informed.  We must move fifty thousand cattle from Dodge to the Platte River within the next fortnight.  One of the worst drouths in the history of the trail confronts us, and if you can water my cattle between the Prairie Dog and the Republican River, you can name your own price.”

“Let’s drive around,” said Forrest, stepping into the blackboard, “before it gets too dark.  Come on, boys, and show Mr. Lovell the water.”

All four boarded the vehicle, the boys standing up behind the single seat, and drove away.  In a mile’s meanderings of the creek were five beaver ponds, over which in many places the willows interlapped.  The pools stood bank full, and after sounding them, the quartette turned homeward, satisfied of the abundant water supply.

“There’s water and to spare for the entire drive,” said Forrest to his employer.  “It isn’t the amount drank, it’s the absorption of the sun that gets away with water.  Those willows will protect the pools until the cows come home.  I felt sure of the Beaver.”

“Now, if we can arrange to water my herds here—­”

“That’s all arranged,” replied Forrest.  “I’m a silent partner in this ranch.  Anything that Wells Brothers owns is yours for the asking.  Am I right, boys?”

“If Mr. Lovell needs the water, he is welcome to it,” modestly replied Joel.

“That’s my partner talking,” said Forrest; “that was old man Joel Wells that just spoke.  He’s the senior member of the firm.  Oh, these boys of mine are cowmen from who laid the rail.  They’re not out to rob a neighbor.  Once you hear from the head of the Stinking Water, you can order the herds to pull out for the Platte.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lovell, somewhat perplexed.  “Yes, but let’s get the water on the Beaver clear first.  What does this mean?  I offer a man his price to water my cattle, and he answers me that I’m welcome to it for nothing.  I’m suspicious of the Greeks when they come bearing gifts.  Are you three plotting against me?”

“That’s it,” replied Forrest.  “You caught the gleam of my axe all right.  In the worry of this drouth, you’ve overlooked the fact that you have five horses on this ranch.  They were left here last fall, expecting to pick them up this spring.  Two of them were cripples and three were good cow horses.  Now, these boys of mine are just branching out into cattle, and they don’t need money, but a few good horses are better than gold.  That’s about the plot.  What would you say was the right thing to do?”