Waddles stood in the door of the cookhouse, his big face flushed with wrath as he gazed at the oncoming sea of cows. He reached up and took the shotgun which reposed on two pegs above the door.
He slammed the heavy door and dropped the bar as they sprang inside.
"I made that prediction about clipping Slade's claws too soon," Harris said. "What with Slade locked up and Morrow six feet underground, I was overconfident. I might have known it was planned ahead."
His face was lined with anxiety, an expression she had never before seen him wear even in the face of emergency. She had no time to question him about the assertions relative to Morrow and Slade.
The front rank of the stampede was bearing down on the lower fence. The barrier went down as so much spider web before the drive; posts were broken short, wire was snapped and dragged, and three thousand head of cows pounded on across the meadows.
The girl had a sickening realization that the work of a year would be blotted out in a space of seconds under those churning hoofs. It seemed that she must die of sheer grief as she witnessed the complete devastation of the fields she had watched day by day with such loving care. The stampede swept the full length of the meadow and held on for the house. The acute stab of her grief was dulled and replaced by a mental lethargy. The worst had happened and she viewed the rest of the scene with something akin to indifference.
The foremost cows struck the corrals and they went down with a splintering crash under the pressure from behind. She looked out on a sea of tossing horns and heaving backs as the herd rushed through, the heavy log buildings shaking from the mass of animals jammed against them and squeezing past.
The force of the run was spent on the steep slope back of the house and the herd split into detachments and moved off through the hills.
The west side of the house was windowless, a blank wall built against the standing winds. Waddles was busily engaged in knocking out a patch of chinking and endeavoring to work a loophole between the logs. Harris was similarly engaged between two windows which overlooked the blacksmith shop, storerooms and saddle room that formed a solid line of buildings a hundred yards to the east. She reflected hazily that there was little cause for such petty activity when the worst had happened and the Three Bar had suffered an irreparable loss.
Harris pointed down the valley to the south and she turned mechanically and crossed to that window. A few riders showed on the ridges on either flank of the valley.