Bunches of fifteen or twenty were continually breaking through the lines and starting to run. Quirts and ropes were brought into use to check these individual rushes, the cowmen fearing to use their weapons lest they alarm the herd and bring on a stampede.
"What's the trouble!" demanded Big-foot as they came up with the foreman.
"I don't know. Bad weather, I guess. The evil one seems to have gotten into the critters to-night. Lead your men up to the north end of the line. We will take care of these fellows down here as best we can."
The men galloped quickly to their stations. Then in the driving rain that soaked and chilled them the cowmen began their monotonous songs, interrupted now and then by a shout of command from some one in charge of a squad.
There was no thunder or lightning this time. The men were thankful for that; it needed only some sudden disturbance to start the animals going.
The disturbance came after an hour's work. The cowmen had brought some sort of order out of the chaos and were beginning to breathe easier. Stallings rode up to the head of the herd giving orders that the cattle be pointed in and kept in a circle if possible. To do this he called away all the men at the right save Tad Butler and Big-foot Sanders. As it chanced, they were at the danger spot when the trouble came.
Chunky had been awakened by the disturbance in camp, not having fully aroused himself until after the departure of the men, however. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling about the weather and expressing his opinion of a cowpuncher's life in no uncertain terms.
Finding that all had left him, the lad decided to get his pony and follow.
"What's the matter, Pong?" he called, observing the Chinaman up and fixing the curtains about his wagon.
"Allee same likee this," answered Pong hopping about in imitation of an animal running away.