The boys were well to the front, and established themselves on the wall
of the corral. The rest of the party remained on their horses, but
mounted the little slopes. The green winter landscape had suddenly
become a blaze of colour, and never was there a more animated scene.
Over all hung a light haze. The distant mountains, which could be seen
from the outer valley, were almost invisible. The priest, a huge brown
figure, on his big brown horse, stood on the very apex of the highest
knoll.

Presently, from various directions rose a low deep murmur, then a rumble
of growing volume as of an approaching earthquake. Men and women grasped
their bridles with firmer fingers, and pressed still nearer to the
crests of the many mounds. Then over the hills on every side came a mass
of tossing horns and sleek shining bodies, separated here and there by a
shouting vaquero, whose black and silver seemed pierced at every point
by those white curving horns. The cattle, several thousand in number,
trotted over the hills and toward the corral swiftly, but in good order,
held well in check by the careful vaqueros. There was no cheering, for
excitement was to be avoided. The cattle would stand any amount of the
shouting they were used to, but little from unaccustomed throats.

In the corral, at its farther end, stood, by an oven, a tall muscular
Indian, the most famous brander in that part of the country. He was
stripped to the waist, and as the first steer was driven through the
narrow gate, he plucked a red-hot iron from the coals. The beast,
kicking and bellowing, was flung to the ground by a dexterous twist of
his tail, two more Indians held him in position, and the branding was
accomplished.

Almost before he was up another was prostrate; and they followed each