turned to drift with it, all knowledge of the quarter of the compass was
lost. It was a reasonable allowance that the storm would hold a true
course until its wrath was spent, and relying on that slender thread,
the boys attempted to veer the herd for the sand hills. By nature cattle
are none too gregarious, as only under fear will they flock compactly,
and the danger of splitting the herd into wandering contingents must be
avoided. On the march which lay before it, its compactness must be
maintained, and to turn half the herd into the sand dunes and let the
remainder wander adrift was out of the question.

"We'll have to try out the temper of the herd," said Joel. "The cattle
are thin, have lost their tallow, and this wind seems to be cutting them
to the quick. There's no use in turning the lead unless the swing cattle
will follow. It's better to drift until the storm breaks than to split
the herd into little bunches."

"Let's try for the sand hills, anyhow," urged Dell. "Turn the leaders
ever so slightly, and I'll try and keep the swing cattle in line."

An effort to reach the shelter of the sand dunes was repeatedly made.
But on each attempt the wind, at freezing temperature, cut the cattle to
the bone, and as drifting was so much more merciful, the brothers chose
to abandon the idea of reaching a haven in the sand hills.

"The cattle are too weak," admitted Joel, after repeated efforts. "Turn
the leaders and they hump their backs and halt. An hour of this wind
would drop them in their tracks. It's drift or die."

"I'll drop back and see how the drag cattle are coming on," suggested
Dell, "and if they're in line I might as well start after a pack horse.
We're only wearing out our horses in trying to turn this herd."

The efforts to veer the herd had enabled the drag end to easily keep in
a compact line, and on Dell's return to the lead, he reported the
drifting column less than a quarter mile in length.

"The spirit of the herd is killed," said he; "the cattle can barely hold
their heads off the ground. Why, during that Christmas drift, they
fought and gored each other at every chance, but to-day they act like
lost sheep. They are half dead on their feet."

The herd had been adrift several hours, and as sustenance for man and
horse was important, Dell was impatient to reach the Beaver before
nightfall.

"If the storm has held true since it struck," said he, "I'll cut it
quartering from here to headquarters.