fury of the storm. Again and again the
boys plied the fear of ropes and the force of horses, but each effort
was futile, as new leaders stepped into the track of the displaced ones,
and the course of the herd was sullenly maintained.

The battle was on, and there were no reserves within call. In a crisis
like the present, moments drag like hours, and the firing line needed
heartening. A knowledge of the country was of no avail, a rod or two was
the limit of vision, and the brothers dared not trust each other out of
sight. Time moved forward unmeasured, yet amid all Joel Wells remained
in possession of a stanch heart and an unbewildered mind. "The creek's
to our right," was his battle cry. "Come on; let's turn these lead
cattle once more."

Whether it was the forty-ninth or hundredth effort is not on record, but
at some point in the good fight, the boys became aware that the cattle
were descending a slope--the welcome, southern slope of the Beaver
valley! Overhead the storm howled mercilessly, but the shelter of the
hillside admitted of veering the herd on its course, until the valley
was reached. No knowledge of their location was possible, and all the
brothers could do was to cross to the opposite point, and direct the
herd against the leeward bank of the creek. Every landmark was lost,
with the herd drifting at will.

The first recognition was due to animal instinct. Joel's horse neighed,
was answered by Dell's, and with slack rein, the two turned a few rods
aside and halted at their stable door. Even then the boys could scarcely
identify their home quarters, so enveloped was the dug-out in
swirling snow.

"Get some matches," said Joel, refusing to dismount. "There's no halting
these cattle short of the second cut-bank, below on the left. Come on;
we must try and hold the herd."

The sullen cattle passed on. The halt was only for a moment, when the
boys resumed their positions on the point and front. Allowing the cattle
to move, assured a compact herd, as on every attempt to halt or turn it,
the rear forged to the front and furnished new leaders, and in unity lay
a hope of holding the drifting cattle.

The lay of the Beaver valley below headquarters was well known. The
banks of the creek shifted from a valley on one side, to low,
perpendicular bluffs on the other. It was in one of these meanderings of
the stream that Joel saw a possible haven, the sheltering cut-bank that
he hoped to reach, where refuge might