and running his horse
up to him he took up his tail, wrapped the brush around the pommel of
his saddle, and by a dexterous turn of his horse threw him until he
spun like a top. The horseman laughed. The ground was sandy, and while
the throwing frightened him, never for an instant did it shake his
determination.

So after darkness had fallen and the men had bedded their cattle for
the night, he slipped through the guard on night-herd and lay down
among the others. He complimented himself on his craftiness, but never
dreamed that this was a trail herd, bound for some other country three
hundred miles beyond his native Texas. The company was congenial; it
numbered thirty-five hundred two-year-old steers like himself, and
strangely no one ever noticed him until long after they had crossed
the Frio. Then a swing man one day called his foreman's attention to a
stray, line-backed, bar-circle-bar steer in the herd. The foreman only
gave him a passing glance, saying, "Let him alone; we may get a jug of
whiskey for him if some trail cutter don't claim him before we cross
Red River."

Now Red River was the northern boundary of his native State, and
though he was unconscious of his destination, he was delighted with
his new life and its constant change of scene. He also rejoiced that
every hour carried him farther and farther from the Nueces valley,
where he had suffered so much physical pain and humiliation. So for
several months he traveled northward with the herd. He swam rivers
and grazed in contentment across flowery prairies, mesas and broken
country. Yet it mattered nothing to him where he was going, for his
every need was satisfied. These men with the herd were friendly to
him, for they anticipated his wants by choosing the best grazing, so
arranging matters that he reached water daily, and selecting a dry
bed ground for him at night. And when strange copper-colored men with
feathers in their hair rode along beside the herd he felt no fear.

The provincial ideas of his youth underwent a complete change within
the first month of trail life. When he swam Red River with the leaders
of the herd, he not only bade farewell to his native soil, but burned
all bridges behind him. To the line-back steer, existence on the
Nueces had been very simple. But now his views were broadening.
Was not he a unit of millions of his kind, all forging forward like
brigades of a king's army to possess themselves of some unconquered
country? The