302 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



The third night after my bear-hunt I was wakened 

 in my tent by the thud of galloping hoofs. It was a 

 messenger from the beef herd, then half a mile or so 

 away on .the open prairie. Frank put his head into 

 my tent. ' The beef herd is stampeding,' was all he 

 said, and then he was off to saddle his horse. We 

 always had a few horses picketed in camp, and I 

 speedily dressed and followed his example. In a 

 few moments not a soul was left in camp but the 

 cook. 



The night, for all of us, was spent in the saddle, 

 endeavouring to keep our now thoroughly demoralized 

 herd of some 300 steers together. We found them 

 at first about a mile out of camp, where the boys 

 had managed to stop them after their first wild 

 rush of half a mile. Presently they began to bed 

 down as we rode quietly round them. Then sud- 

 denly a steer started to his feet again, and in a second 

 every animal was on his legs. Another moment, and 

 they were off in a wild mad gallop that nothing could 

 stop. We all galloped too, on each side, in front, 

 or behind, as we happened to be placed, our whole 

 energies concentrated on keeping with the herd and 

 keeping the herd together. The night was dark ; the 

 ground was rough, undulating, and stony, full of 

 prairie-dog holes and badger holes. It was a marvel 

 that the horses kept on their feet. Fortunately, 

 western cow-ponies are as? sure-footed as cats, and 

 seldom make a mistake on their native range. It 

 was a wild and exhilarating experience, this midnight 

 gallop alongside a stampeding herd, the thunder of 

 the hoofs mingling with the cheery shouts of the 

 cowboys on either hand tempered, nevertheless, 

 by the anxious thought that if the herd once 



