flank trying to swing them round. But someone seems to be
in front, as we soon can hear pistol-shots fired in a desperate
endeavour to stop the lead steers. But even that is no avail, and indeed
is liable to split the herd in two and so double the work. So the
thundering race continues, and it is only after many miles have been
covered that the cattle have run themselves out and we finally get them
quietened down and turned homewards. Someone is sent out scouting round
to try to get a view of the cook's lantern and so know our whereabouts.
But have we got all the cattle? The men are questioned. Where's Pete?
and where's Red? There must be cattle gone and these two men are staying
with them. Well, we'll take the herd on anyway, bed them down again, get
fresh horses, and then hunt up the missing bunch. So, the cattle once
more "bedded," and every spare hand left with them, as they are liable
to run again, two of us start out to find if possible the missing men.
We first take a careful note of the position of any stars that may be
visible, then start out at an easy lope or canter. It is so dark that it
seems a hopeless task to find them. Good luck alone may guide us right;
and good luck serves us well, for after having come some eight or nine
miles we hear a man "hollering" to us. He had heard our horses' tread,
and was no doubt mightily relieved at our coming, as of course he was
completely lost in the darkness and had wisely not made any attempt to
find his way. But there he was, good fellow, Red! with his little bunch
of 200 steers. Yes, the herd had split, that's how it was. But where is
Pete? Oh! he doesn't know; last saw him heading the stampede; never saw
him since. Can he be lost and still wandering round? That is not likely,
and we begin to suspect trouble. The small herd is directed campwards,
and some of us again scout round, halloing and shouting, but keeping our
eyes well "skinned" for anything on the ground. At last, by the merest
chance, we come on something; no doubt what it is--the body of a man.
"Hallo, Pete! What's the matter?" He stirs. "Are you badly hurt?"
"Dog-gone it, fellows, glad to see you! My horse fell and some cattle
ran over me. No! I ain't badly hurt; but I guess you'll have to carry me
home." The poor fellow had several ribs broken, was dreadfully bruised,
and his left cheek was nearly sliced off. There we had to leave him till
morning, one of us staying by. Happily Pete got all right again.