THE SPIRIT OF THE HERD 139 



ing their bald faces lifted to drink the sweet wet 

 breath that came over the rim. Then they started 

 on again, but faster, and with a rumbling now 

 from their hoarse throats that tightened Wade's 

 grip on the reins. 



The sound seemed to come out of the earth, a 

 low, rumbling mumble, as dark as the night and 

 as wide as the plain, a thick, inarticulate bellow 

 that stood every rider stiff in his stirrups. 



But how dark was the night, and how thick 

 the smother of dust ! Nothing could be seen; and 

 the hoarse, choking bellow of the herd, as thick 

 as the dark and the dust, made all other sounds 

 impossible to hear. 



Then the breeze caught the dust and carried 

 it back from the gray-coated, ghostly shapes, and 

 Wade saw that the animals were still moving in 

 a circle. He must keep them going. He touched 

 his horse to ride on with them, when across the 

 black sky flashed a vivid streak of lightning. 



There was a snort from the steers, a quick clap 

 of horns and hoofs from far within the herd, a 

 tremor of the plain, a roar, a surging mass — and 

 Wade was riding the flank of a wild stampede. 

 Before him, behind him, beside him, pressing hard 



