Dell
remembered its shade, and taking the lead, groped forward in search of
the silent sentinel which stood guard at the gateway of the cove. It was
their one hope, and by zigzagging from the creek to any semblance of a
road, the entrance to the nook might be identified.

The march of the herd was slow and sullen. The smaller cattle sheltered
in the lee of the larger, moving compactly, as if the density of the
herd radiated a heat of its own. The saddle horses, southern bred and
unacclimated, humped their backs and curled their heads to the knee,
indicating, with the closing day, a falling temperature. Suddenly, and
as clear as the crack of a rifle, the voice of Dell Wells was heard in
the lead:--

"Come on, Joel; here's our hackberry! Here's where the fight is won or
lost! Here's where you point them while I rush them! Come quick!"

The brothers shifted positions. It was the real fight of the day.
Responding to spur and quirt, the horses sprang like hungry wolves at
the cattle, and the gloomy column turned quartering into the eye of the
storm. But as on every other attempt to turn or mill the drifting herd,
new leaders forged to the front and threatened to carry the drift past
the entrance to the pocket. The critical moment had arrived.
Dismounting, with a coiled rope in hand, Dell rushed on the volunteer
leaders, batting them over the heads, until they whirled into the
angling column, awakened from their stupor and panic-stricken from the
assault of a boy, who attacked with the ferocity of a fiend, hissing
like an adder or crying in the eerie shrill of a hyena in the same
breath. It worked like a charm! Its secret lay in the mastery of the
human over all things created. Elated by his success, Dell stripped his
coat, and with a harmless weapon in each hand, assaulted every
contingent of new leaders, striking right and left, throwing his weight
against their bodies, and by the magic of his mimic furies forcing them
into obedience.

Meanwhile Joel had succeeded in holding the original leaders in line,
and within a hundred yards from the turn, the shelter of the bend was
reached. The domestic bovine lows for the comfort of his stable, and no
sooner had the lead cattle entered the sheltering nook, than their
voices arose in joyous lowing, which ran back through the column for the
first time since the storm struck. Turning to the support of Dell, the
older boy lent his assistance, forcing the angle, until the drag end o