Dust swirled and choked the cowhands as the beeves ambled along the plain. One particular cowboy riding at the back of the herd pulled his bandanna up to cover his mouth and nose, but his sullen eyes still peeped out from the gap between his bandanna and his hat. After a while, the trail boss galloped back to him.

"All right, Rowdy, Quince is coming back to relieve you," he called.

"About time," grumbled Rowdy.

"I want you to ride up to Wishbone and tell him to make camp early." Nodding, Rowdy kicked his horse into a canter and rode towards the chuckwagon. Coming alongside of it, he said to the whiskered old cook,

"Boss said you need to make camp early."

"Well did he bother to tell you why?" Rowdy's quick temper flared up and he answered with some heat,

"No he didn't, Wish, but I think you'd better just do what he says!" Wishbone had a temper to match and he threw back,

"I didn't ask what you thought!" The fiery ramrod's mouth curled into a snarl.

"Why, you old coot, you know Mr. Favor's the boss and can tell you to do anything he feels like!" Before the cook could reply, the trail boss himself came riding up.

"What's a matter with you two? This isn't a Sunday social and I don't pay you to jabber!" Both started at the same time, with Rowdy saying,

"Look here, Boss, Wish won't do what I told him!" and the cook saying simultaneously,

"This young whelp doesn't have the brains of a five-year-old!"

"All right, cut it out!" shouted Mr. Favor. "Rowdy, I told you to tell Wishbone to have supper ready, now is that too hard for you?"

"I told him, Mr. Favor, but then he jumped down my throat and started asking me why he should!" Mr. Favor turned his attention towards Wishbone and asked,

"Is that true?"

"Now Mr. Favor, I don't understand why I'm settin' up camp so early - the men just finished breakfast not an hour ago!" Taking off his hat and hitting it against his chaps, the boss sighed and said with forced patience,

"Wish, if I had to stop and explain every decision I made, we'd still be in San Antone! Now I need you to set up camp HERE and NOW because we're moving into dry country and I need the men moving the beeves non-stop for the next 24 hours." He slapped his hat back onto his head and spurred his horse back into the mass of cattle.

"That blasted fool's gonna lose every hand he's got if he keeps treating them this way," muttered the cook.

"Well, I think they expect that from a trail boss," replied Rowdy contemplatively. "And, anyway," he added, "we've all been on edge since that stampede last night." Wishbone grumbled his agreement, but added,

"I still say he should lay off a bit."

An hour later all the men had gathered around the chuckwagon, finishing off Wishbone's sandwiches. Mr. Favor was just reaching for a last cup of coffee when Pete came galloping into the middle of camp.

"Hey Boss," he called while swiftly dismounting. "There's a rider up ahead, all alone. He seemed to be headin' this way." Setting his coffee cup down, the boss said,

"Well, let's go check it out." Rowdy followed suit and soon all three were on their way.

They had only gone a mile or so when they spotted a horse. Pete, having trained his eyes to see far away, was the first to see it, and he was also the first to notice that there was no rider on its back. As they came closer, they saw that the rider had fallen off and was lying on the ground a few yards away from his horse. It was a young man with blonde hair. His black horse seemed anxious and wouldn't let Rowdy get near it while Pete and Mr. Favor checked the man for signs of life.

"He's alive all right," announced the boss quietly.

"But his head sure needs some doctorin'," added the scout. Even as he said this, the young man groaned and raised himself from the ground. His hand immediately found his aching head and touched it tenderly.

"What happened to you?" asked Mr. Favor. The injured man shook his head once to try and clear his head, then put a hand back up to his head while the boss and his scout helped him to his feet.

"Well, uh, that's just what I'm trying to figure out myself," he mumbled.

"What's your name?"

"Josh Randall." The boss stuck out his hand.

"I'm Gil Favor, and this is my scout, Pete Nolan." Josh shook Mr. Favor's hand. Pete nodded at him.

"We'll get you back to our cook Wishbone and let him take a look at you. He knows a bit about doctorin'." Too weary and sore to protest, Josh nodded and slowly mounted the horse that Rowdy brought to him and followed them back to the herd.