As Madeline rode along she made good use of her eyes. The soil
was sandy and porous, and she understood why the rain and water
from the few springs disappeared so quickly. At a little
distance the grama-grass appeared thick, but near at hand it was
seen to be sparse. Bunches of greasewood and cactus plants were
interspersed here and there in the grass. What surprised Madeline
was the fact that, though she and Florence had seemed to be
riding quite awhile, they had apparently not drawn any closer to
the round-up. The slope of the valley was noticeable only after
some miles had been traversed. Looking forward, Madeline
imagined the valley only a few miles wide. She would have been
sure she could walk her horse across it in an hour. Yet that
black, bold range of Chiricahua Mountains was distant a long
day's journey for even a hard-riding cowboy. It was only by
looking back that Madeline could grasp the true relation of
things; she could not be deceived by distance she had covered.

Gradually the black dots enlarged and assumed shape of cattle and
horses moving round a great dusty patch. In another half-hour
Madeline rode behind Florence to the outskirts of the scene of
action. They drew rein near a huge wagon in the neighborhood of
which were more than a hundred horses grazing and whistling and
trotting about and lifting heads to watch the new-comers. Four
cowboys stood mounted guard over this drove of horses. Perhaps a
quarter of a mile farther out was a dusty melee. A roar of
tramping hoofs filled Madeline's ears. The lines of marching
cattle had merged into a great, moving herd half obscured by
dust.