“Listen again, Ad,” said the other, quickly, “and perhaps you’ll change your mind about the kind of thunder that is. When a heap of hoofs come down chunketty-chunk on the hard prairie it always makes that thunder noise.”
At that Adrian jumped to his feet.
“What’s that, Donald?” he cried, excitedly, “do you mean long-horns?”
“Just what I do, and heading this way as fast as they can come. Sure you must know all the signs right well, Adrian; you’ve been on the range enough to understand when cattle get frightened, and start off on a stampede. That’s what’s happened; and as they go past this timber, p’raps we can see what it all means!”
[CHAPTER V.—THE STAMPEDE.]
The two boys stood there, listening to the sounds that constantly increased in volume, as though approaching rapidly nearer the camp in the timber growing along the little stream.
There could no longer be the slightest doubt as
to what made the noise. Before now Adrian had heard enough to fully agree with his chum when the other pronounced it a stampede of cattle. Besides the crash of many hoofs on the earth, they could catch wild snortings, low, frightened lowings, and the rattle of striking horns; all of which were very familiar sounds to both lads, as they had witnessed just such sights on many a previous occasion.
“The queer part of it is,” Adrian had taken pains to say before the noise grew so boisterous as to prevent all ordinary conversation, “that there doesn’t seem to be anything around to start such a wild rush. A storm will do it quicker than most anything else, and there couldn’t be one in the quarter where they’re heading from.”
“Wait and see,” Donald had wisely added; if he suspected anything as to the real facts he did not appear willing to share his thoughts with his chum as yet, waiting doubtless until he could pick up further proof.