they completed
about the herd. Suddenly the sharp yelp of a coyote rang out; it seemed to
come from no farther than twenty yards away. The cattle heard it, too, and
a wave of panic swept through them. Simpson stiffened in his saddle. The
sound, which was repeated, was an exact reproduction of a coyote's yelp,
yet he knew that it was not a coyote.

The herd rose to its feet as a single steer, and for a second stood
undetermined. From a clump of sage-brush not more than two feet high
fluttered something long and white like a sheet. It waved in the wind as
the cry was repeated. The herd crashed forward in a stampede, Simpson in
the lead on a tired horse, but a scant length ahead of a thousand maddened
steers bolting in a panic of thirst and fear.

"Hell's loose!" yelled the men in their blankets, making for the temporary
rope corral to secure horses. Simpson, tallow-colored with fear, clung
like a cat to his horse, and dug the rowels in the beast's flanks till
they were bloody and dripping. He had seen Jim Rodney's face above the
white cloth as it fluttered in the face of the herd that came pounding
behind him with the rumble of nearing thunder. He was too close to them to
attempt to fire his revolver in the air in the hope of turning them, but
the boys had evidently got into their saddles, to judge by the volley of
shots that rang out and were answered. Simpson alone rode ahead of the
herd that tore after him, ripping up the earth as it came, bellowing in
its blind fury. His horse, a thoroughly seasoned cow-pony, sniffed the
bedlam and responded to the goading spur. She had been in cattle stampedes
before, and, though every fibre ached with fatigue, she flattened out her
lean body and covered ground to the length of her stride at each gallop.
The herd was so close that Simpson could smell the stench of their
sweating bodies, taste their dust, and feel the scorch of their breath.
The sound of their hoofs was like the pounding of a thousand propellers.
From above looked the moon, round and serene; she had watched the passing
of many peoples in the land of the red silence. The horse seemed to be
gaining. A few more lengths ahead and Simpson could turn her to one side
and let the maddened cattle race to their own destruction. All he asked of
God was to escape their trampling hoofs, and though he gained he dug the
rowel and plied the quirt, unmindful of what he did. On they came; the
chorus of their fear swelled like the voic