unconsciously answer in their sleep. The cattle were likewise tired,
and slept as willingly as the men.

About midnight, however, Fox Quarternight dashed into camp, firing his
six-shooter and yelling like a demon. We tumbled out of our blankets
in a dazed condition to hear that one of the herds camped near the
river had stampeded, the heavy rumbling of the running herd and the
shooting of their outfit now being distinctly audible. We lost no time
getting our horses, and in less than a minute were riding for our
cattle, which had already got up and were timidly listening to the
approaching noise. Although we were a good quarter mile from the
trail, before we could drift our herd to a point of safety, the
stampeding cattle swept down the trail like a cyclone and our herd was
absorbed into the maelstrom of the onrush like leaves in a whirlwind.
It was then that our long-legged Mexican steers set us a pace that
required a good horse to equal, for they easily took the lead, the
other herd having run between three and four miles before striking us,
and being already well winded. The other herd were Central Texas
cattle, and numbered over thirty-five hundred, but in running capacity
were never any match for ours.

Before they had run a mile past our camp, our outfit, bunched well
together on the left point, made the first effort to throw them out
and off the trail, and try to turn them. But the waves of an angry
ocean could as easily have been brought under subjection as our
terrorized herd during this first mad dash. Once we turned a few
hundred of the leaders, and about the time we thought success was in
reach, another contingent of double the number had taken the lead;
then we had to abandon what few we had, and again ride to the front.
When we reached the lead, there, within half a mile ahead, burned the