Day after day the trail herd plodded slowly to the north, following the buffalo trails that would lead to water, and the crude map of one who had taken a herd north and had returned with a tale of vast plains and no rivals.

Always through the day the dust cloud hung over the backs of the cattle, settled into the clothes of those who followed, grimed the pink aprons of Buddy and his small sister Dulcie so that they were no longer pink.

Whenever a stream was reached, mother searched patiently for clear water and an untrampled bit of bank where she might do the family washing, leaving Ezra to mind the children.

But even so the crust and the wear and tear of travel remained to harass her fastidious soul.
Buddy remembered that drive as he could not remember the comfortable ranch house of his earlier babyhood.

To him afterward it seemed that life began with the great herd of cattle.