e vanguard forming a
living floor, over which each newcomer swept to oblivion.

Feeling his utter helplessness, Sanderson continued to watch. There
was nothing he could do; he was like a mere atom of sand on a seashore,
with the storm waves beating over him.

The scene continued a little longer. Sanderson saw none of the men of
the outfit. The dust died down, settling like a pall over the neck of
the Hole. A few steers, chancing to come straight ahead through the
neck of the Hole, and thus striking the hard, narrow trail that ran
through the center, continued to pass Sanderson. They were still in
the grip of a frenzy; and at the far end of the Hole he saw a number of
them bogged down. They had not learned the lesson of the first
entrance.

At length it seemed to be over. Sanderson saw one steer, evidently
with some conception of the calamity penetrating its consciousness,
standing near him on the trail, moving its head from side to side and
snorting as it looked at its unfortunate fellows. The animal seemed to
be unaware of Sanderson's presence until Streak moved uneasily.

Then the steer turned to Sanderson, its red eyes ablaze. As though it
blamed him for the catastrophe, it charged him. Sanderson drew his
pistol and shot it, with Streak rearing and plunging.

Roars of terror and bellows of despair assailed Sanderson's ears from
all directions. Groans, almost human, came from the mired mass on both
sides of the trail. Hundreds of the cattle had already sunk from
sight, hundreds were sucked partly down, and other hundreds--thousands,
it seemed--were struggling in plain view, with only portions of their
bodies under.

Still others--the last to pour through the throat of the gorge--were
clambering out, using the sinking bodies of others to assist them;
Sanderson could see a few more choking the far end of the Hole.

How many had escaped he did not know, nor care. The dramatic finish of
Soapy was vivid, and concern for the other members of the outfit was
uppermost in his mind.

He rode the back trail slowly. The destruction of his herd had not
occupied ten minutes, it seemed. Dazed with the suddenness of it, and
with a knowledge of what portended, he came to the spot where Soapy's
horse had stumbled and looked upon what was left of the man. His face
dead white, his hands trembling, he spread his blanket over the spot.
He had formed an affection for Soapy.

Mounting Streak, he resumed his ride to