Yet never for an instant did Dave ask this question of himself. It never
entered his mind. For the time being he had forgotten that Mr. Carson was
not his father.

"I'm going to save those cattle!" Dave murmured over and over again, as he
neared the frightened, tumultous mass of steers. "But don't you stumble
with me, Crow!"

For to stumble meant, very likely, the death of horse and rider. Cattle on
the range are used to seeing mounted men--in fact they seldom see them
otherwise, and for a mounted cowpuncher it is perfectly safe to ride in
front of even a wildly running mass of steers.

But once let a man be on foot, while the cattle do not actually attack
him, they seem to lose all fear of him, and may trample ruthlessly over
him. Then is when a cowpuncher's life depends on his steed. The cattle
seem to regard horse and man as one and as a superior being to whom they
must give place. That is why Dave did not want his horse to stumble and
throw him. For his life, and that of his fine steed, Crow, would not have
lasted a minute under the pounding rush of those sharp hoofs.

While thus riding wildly at the rushing steers Dave had many thoughts in
his mind.

"How did they get out?" he mused. "The gate and fastenings were all right
five minutes ago. And I wonder if I can turn them and drive them back
alone? I've got to, that's all, for I don't see any help coming."

Dave rose in his stirrups and gave a quick frightened, tumultuous mass of