At the sound of the shrill, weird cry, the animal stood at bay. Again
came the well-known strident halloo. A maelstrom of memories was
awakened by the call. Instinctively obeying the old summons she started
toward the train, when from over the hill behind her she heard another
command.

"Co, boss! Co, boss!"

The childish anxious treble rose in an imploring wail.

The cow paused irresolute, hesitating between the lure of the old life
on the plains and the recent domestic existence.

"Co, boss!"

There was a note of entreaty, of affection, in the cry.

After all, domesticity was her birthright. With an answering low of
encouragement the black cow turned and trotted amiably back to meet the
little dairyman.

"Well, I'll be jiggered," said the cattleman, as the train pulled out.
"I'd a swore it was old Jetblack. Maybe 'twas. She was only a milker
anyway, and I guess she's found a home somewhere."

Gus with arm lovingly about the cow's neck walked home.

"Bossy," he said in gently reproaching tones, "how could you give me
such a skeer? I thought I'd lost you, and I'd hev sure missed you--you,
yerself--more'n I would the money your milk brings us."

Then for the first time, the lad's eyes noted the decorated horns.

"What in thunder--"

He began to unwind the ribbons of white cloth, the stringed remnants of
the surplice.