o-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, Red."

"I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!" retorted Red. "I
should 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his cussed
devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out here
quick. The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' the wink
of an eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen between now
and daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from the north,
they'll be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's Creek is all
that's needed, Kid; an'--"

"Oh, pshaw!" interposed Johnny. "There ain't no wind at all now. It's
been quiet for an hour."

"Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a
change, shore."

"Not always; we'll come out of this all right," assured Johnny, but he
spoke without his usual confidence. "There ain't no use--" he paused
as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy breathing.
There was a peculiar hush in the air that he did not like, a closeness
that sent his heart up in his throat, and as he was about to continue
a sudden gust snapped his neck-kerchief out straight. He felt that
refreshing coolness which so often precedes a storm and as he weighed it
in his mind a low rumble of thunder rolled in the north and sent a chill
down his back.

"Good God! Get the boys!" cried Red, wheeling. "It's _changed_! An'
Pete an' Billy out there in front of--_there they go_!" he shouted as a
sudden tremor shook the earth and a roaring sound filled the air. He was
instantly lost to ear and eye, swallowed by the oppressive darkness as
he spurred and quirted into a great, choking cloud of dust which swept
down from the north, unseen in the night. The deep thunder of hoofs and
the faint and occasional flash of a six-shooter told him the direction,
and he hurled his mount after the uproar with no thought of the death
which lurked in every hole and rock and gully on the uneven and unseen
plain beneath him. His mouth and nose were lined with dust, his throat
choked with it, and he opened his burning eyes only at intervals, and
then only to a slit, to catch a fleeting glance of--nothing. He realized
vaguely that he was riding north, because the cattle would head for
water, but that was all, save that he was animated by a desperate
eagerness to gain the firing line, to join Pete and Billy, the two
men who rode before that crazed mass of horns and hoofs and who we