The way I've figured it, they set back East somewhere and write it like they think maybe it is; and it's a hell of a job they make of it." Thurston, remembering the time when he, too, "set back East" and wrote it like he thought maybe it was, blushed guiltily.

He was thankful that his stories of the West had, without exception, been rejected as of little worth.

He shuddered to think of one of them falling into the hands of Park Holloway.
"I came out to learn, and I want to learn it thoroughly," he said, in the face of much physical discomfort.

Just then the horses slowed for a climb, and he breathed thanks.

"In the first place," he began again when he had readjusted himself carefully in the saddle, "I wish you'd tell me just where you are going with the wagons, and what you mean by trailing a herd." "Why, I thought I said we were going to Billings," Park answered, surprised.