CHAPTER XVIII 



THE STORM: A "mAGE" STORY 



IT WAS late in October. We were going through 

 the unusual experience of delivering late in the 

 season to a Dakota buyer some 900 yearlings. He 

 had made his cut,, and driven off to look at some 

 other stuff, while I started to town to see that every- 

 thing was ready for the shipment next day. The out- 

 fit trailed with the herd to throw into a hold pasture 

 at headquarters for the night. The afternoon had 

 been sultry, and I noticed great thundercaps piling 

 up in the northeast, but wind and weather do not 

 count much in west Texas when one has something 

 to do. 



Summer had been rather on the yellow order, and 

 the old Indian sign, "clouds all around and rain fall- 

 ing down in the middle," formed about the only 

 weather bureau that we took much stock in. So I 

 did not pay much attention to the kindly warnings as 

 I passed headquarters. I rode the chestnut mare 

 Beauty, a handsome, wilful beast, the fastest in the 

 country for a long-distance run. She had her own 

 ideas about who should run things, but she always 

 responded to the call of duty, and her endurance was 

 a wonder. We had made many a hard ride to see 



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