134 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



hoofs, of clashing horns and charing sides sound- 

 ing not unlike the rushing of rain across a field 

 of corn. 



Nothing could be worse for them, for it would 

 only add to their heat and thirst. The cooler twi- 

 light was falling, but, mingling with it, rose and 

 thickened and spread the choking dust that soon 

 covered the cattle and shut out all but the dark 

 wall of the herd from sight. 



Slowly, evenly, swung the wall, round and 

 round, without a break. I have never seen a mill- 

 ing herd and I can scarcely imagine its suppressed 

 excitement, the waking, the stirring of four thou- 

 sand wild spirits! To keep this excitement in 

 check was the problem of Wade and his men. 

 And the night had not yet begun. 



When the two riders had brought in the drags, 

 and the chuck-wagon had lumbered up with sup- 

 per, Wade set the first watch. 



Along with the wagon had come the fresh 

 horses — one of them being Peroxide Jim, a sup* 

 pie, powerful, clean-limbed buckskin, a horse, I 

 think, that had as fine and intelligent an animal- 

 face as any creature I ever saw. Wade had been 

 saving this horse for emergency work. And why 



