“Alma Caldwell!” he exclaimed, repeating the name several times. “Pretty name for a prettier girl! I wonder why a girl like her knows about Swingley’s little expedition, and why she’s so anxious to keep ahead of us.”

 CHAPTER III BERTRAM MAKES A GO-DEVIL. 

CHAPTER III

The men detrained at a little northern Wyoming town, the terminus of the railroad, after an all-night journey from Denver.

Swingley was everywhere, asserting his leadership. There was none of the jocularity about him now, which he had assumed during the long journey. His orders were sharp and imperative. They were accompanied by blows, on two or three occasions, when cowpunchers did not move quickly enough to suit him. One of the men, who had made a move to draw his gun, was knocked bleeding and insensible before he could drag the weapon from its holster.

Evidently things were moving according to a prearranged program. There were chuck wagons on hand, into which food and cooking utensils were piled. Also there were wagons for the bedding.

Twenty or thirty additional men had joined the outfit at Denver, and these were reinforced by as many more, who were waiting at the station when the special train arrived, followed in an hour or two by the train carrying the horses.

The new men were apparently of the same ilk as those who had joined from the start—sunburned, hardy-looking fellows in cowboy garb, and every one of them was heavily armed. There were greetings between some of their number and a few of the new arrivals, as the long trails abounded with men who were accustomed to drifting from one ranch to another, and whose circle of acquaintances was correspondingly large.

The only accident preparatory to getting the cavalcade under way was one that was destined to affect Bertram strangely.

“Milt,” called Swingley, reining his sweating horse in front of Bertram, who was smoking a cigarette and wondering what had become of the girl whose card had been taken out and scanned many times. “Milt, I know you’re handy at blacksmithing. Old Jim Dykes, the only horseshoer we’ve got along, has got himself kicked in the arm, and he won’t be any more good to us on this trip. Come and help us out.”

Bertram accompanied Swingley to the improvised forge, where the groaning blacksmith was having his injured arm set by an amateur 

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