Time and again he and his new Texas foreman, Jed Parker, had followed the trail of a stampeded bunch of twenty or thirty, followed them on down through the Soda Springs Valley to the cut drift fences, there to abandon them.

For, as yet, an armed force would be needed to penetrate the borderland.

Once he and his men bad experienced the glory of a night pursuit.

Then, at the drift fences, he had fought one of his battles.

But it was impossible adequately to patrol all parts of a range bigger than some Eastern States.
Buck Johnson did his best, but it was like stopping with sand the innumerable little leaks of a dam.