hat tarp?"

Sanderson had no time to answer. A score of steers bolted straight for
him, and he groaned again when he saw that the whole herd was rushing
forward in a mass. A common impulse moved them; they were frenzied
with fright and terror.

It was not the first stampede that Sanderson had been in, and he knew
its dangers. Yet he grimly fought with the cattle, Streak leaping here
and there in answer to the knee-pressure of his master, horse and rider
looking like knight and steed of some fabled romance, embattled with a
huge monster with thousands of legs.

Sanderson caught a glimpse of several riders tearing toward him from
the direction of the camp, and he knew that Carter and the others were
trying to reach him in the hope of being able to stem the torrent of
rushing cattle.

But the movement had already gone too far, and the speed of the
frenzied steers was equal to the best running that Streak could do.

Sanderson saw that all effort to stop them would be hopeless, and aware
of the danger of remaining at the head of the flying mass, he veered
Streak off, heading him toward the side, out of the press.

As he rode he caught a glimpse of Soapy. The latter had the same
notion that was in Sanderson's mind, for he was leaning over his pony's
mane, riding hard to get out of the path taken by the herd.

Sanderson pulled Streak up slightly, watching Soapy until he was
certain the latter would reach the edge, then he gave Streak the reins
again.

The pause, though, robbed Sanderson of his chance to escape. He had
been cutting across the head of the herd at a long angle when watching
Soapy, and had been traveling with the cattle also; and now he saw that
the big level was behind him, that he and the cattle were in an
ever-narrowing valley which led directly into the neck of Devil's Hole.

Sanderson now gave up all hope of reaching the side, and devoted his
attention to straight, hard riding. There were a few steers ahead of
him, and he had a faint hope that if he could get ahead of them he
might be able to direct their course through Devil's Hole and thus
avert the calamity that threatened.

Grimly, silently, riding as he had never ridden before, he urged Streak
forward. One by one he passed the steers in his path, and just before
he reached the entrance to Devil's Hole he passed the foremost steer.

Glancing back as Streak thundered through the neck of the Hole,
Sanderson saw Soapy coming, not more tha