THROUGH THE BUSH.
Oscar Gleeson the cowboy, who appeared at such a timely juncture for Avon Burnet, when he was hard pressed by his Comanche pursuer, took the young man on his mustang behind him, as the reader will recall, and set out for the camp, several miles distant.
Despite the fears of the youth for the safety of his friends in the cabin, the veteran ranchman was more concerned for the fifty-odd cattle that had chosen to stampede themselves, and were at that moment dashing over the prairie for no one could tell where.
But inasmuch as the captain had sent for help, it must be given, regardless of other matters, and the easy swing of the mustang continued until the two arrived at the fire that had been kindled in a small valley, where the provision wagon was stationed with the other 168 animals tethered near, ready for the start that was set for an early hour the next morning.
Most of the men had stretched themselves out in the wagon to sleep, for a hard and arduous campaign was before them, in which they were likely to be compelled to keep their horses for fifteen or twenty hours at a stretch, changing them when necessary and catching snatches of slumber as chance presented.
But the unaccountable stampede of a portion of the herd had roused all, and, at the moment “Ballyhoo,” as he was known to his friends, reined up, preparations were under way for a general start after the absent ones.
“Where’s Madstone and Shackaye?” asked Gleeson, looking down in the faces of the group, dimly shown in the firelight, and noticing that two of their number were missing.
“They started out for the cattle a little while ago,” replied one of the ranchmen, “thinking as how you might not be able to manage them.”
“I’d fetched ’em back all right,” replied 169 Gleeson, “if it hadn’t been for some other business that turned up.”
“What’s that?”