"What's a stampede?" asked Tilly.
"Mr. Tim, look—quick!" Genevieve's voice was urgent, a little frightened. But the man had not needed that. With a sharp word behind his teeth, he spurred his horse.
"Follow me—quick!" he ordered. And with a frightened cry they obeyed.
Genevieve obeyed, too—but she looked back over her shoulder.
The moon was very bright now. The black shadow to the right had become a wedge-shaped, compact, seething mass, sweeping rapidly toward them. There was a rushing swish in the air, and the sound of hoarse shouts. A few moments later the maddened beasts swept across their path, well to the rear.
"I'll answer your question, now, Miss Tilly," said Mr. Tim, as they reined in their horses and looked backward at the shadowy mass. "That was a stampede."
"But what will they do with them?" chattered Cordelia, with white lips. "How can they ever stop them?"
"Oh, they'll head them off—get them to running in a circle, probably, till they can quiet them and make them lie down again."
"And will they be all right—then?" shivered Elsie.
"Hm-m; yes," nodded Mr. Tim, "—till the next thing sets them going. Then they'll be again on their feet, every last one of them—heads and tails erect. Oh, they're a pretty sight then—they are!"