fired, but if the worst came he could run some, but the ranchman
said if he should run that the whole herd would be apt to stampede
on him and run him down, and he thought Pa better lay down and let
them go by.

Gee, but I pitied Pa when we got out on the prairie and found the
herd. They were as tame as Jersey cows, and the old bull, the
fiercest of the lot, with a head as big as a barrel, came up to
the ranchman and wanted to be scratched, like a big dog, and the
calves and cows came up and licked our hands. It was hard work to
drive them towards pa's blind, 'cause they wanted to be petted,
but the ranchman said as soon as we could get the bull up to the
top of the ridge, so the old man would open fire on him, they
would hurry right along to pa's blind, 'cause they always came
to be salted at the signal of a revolver shot.

[Illustration: Pa Swinging His Ax Handle.]

So we pushed them along up towards the ridge, out of sight of pa,
by punching them, and slapping them on the hams, and finally the
head of the old bull appeared above the ridge on the regular
cattle trail, and not more than ten rods from where Pa was
concealed. Then we heard a shot and we knew Pa was alive to his
danger.

"There she blows," said the ranchman, and then there was another
shot, and by that time the whole herd of about 20 was on the
ridge, and the shots came thick, and the herd started on a trot
for the shed where Pa was, to get their salt. When we had counted
12 shots and knew pa's guns were empty we showed up on the ridge,