go hard with you. Now, remember, don't look back, for these are times
when no one cares to be identified.' I never questioned that man's
advice; it was 'die dog or eat the hatchet' with me. I mounted my
horse, waved the usual parting courtesies, and rode away. As I turned
into the trail about a quarter mile from the house, I noticed two men
ride out from behind the stable and follow me. I remembered the story
about Lot's wife looking back, though it was lead and not miracles
that I was afraid of that morning.

"For the first hour I could hear the men talking and the hoofbeats of
their horses, as they rode along always the same distance behind me.
After about two hours of this one-sided joke, as I rode over a little
hill, I looked out of the corner of my eye back at my escort, still
about a quarter of a mile behind me. One of them noticed me and raised
his gun, but I instantly changed my view, and the moment the hill hid
me, put spurs to my horse, so that when they reached the brow of the
hill, I was half a mile in the lead, burning the earth like a canned
dog. They threw lead close around me, but my horse lengthened the
distance between us for the next five miles, when they dropped
entirely out of sight. By noon I came into the old stage road, and by
the middle of the afternoon reached home after over sixty miles in the
saddle without a halt."

Just at the conclusion of Bull's story, Flood rode in from the herd,
and after picketing his horse, joined the circle. In reply to an
inquiry from one of the boys as to how the cattle were resting, he
replied,--

"This herd is breaking into trail life nicely. If we'll just be
careful with them now for the first month, and no bad storms strike us