There were muffled yells of agony from beneath the tossing mass of horns.
"They've got him," muttered Ted. "They are wreaking their own revenge."
"Are they killing him, Ted?" asked Stella.
"They have got him down. The fool he was to go among them on foot. He should have known better."
Ted made another effort to get through the cattle, and at last succeeded in making a lane for himself.
"Stella," he shouted over his shoulder, "you stay where you are! This is nothing for you to see. Better let me attend to this."
Stella was aware that Ted always knew what he was talking about when he warned her away from anything, and she made her way out of the herd.
When Ted got to the spot where he had last seen the man, the cattle were still milling, but were getting calmer, and had no hesitancy in scattering when he rode among them slashing right and left with his quirt and firing his revolver over their heads.
When he had cleared an open space he rode back into it, and instantly recoiled from the sight presented to him.
On the ground lay the hamstringer, a mass of bloody clothes in which were torn flesh and broken bones. He was quite dead, and had been not only gored but had been trampled hundreds of times.