The cattle in front whirled to race away from that fluttering object of terror, while those behind crowded them on. In the midst of the confusion, the larger herd plunged into view out of the dust cloud, hurried along by the cowboys. A quiver of fright ran through the entire heaving mass, and in an instant the stampede madness was born.
“We must get out of this!” Clayton shifted the reins to his stiff left hand and turned her horse about. “You used to be a good horsewoman, and we may have to do some sharp riding.”
CHAPTER XX
THE RIDE WITH DEATH
“So steady and firm, leaning low to the mane,
With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein,
Rode we on;
Reaching low, breathing loud, as a creviced wind blows;
Yet we spoke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer;
There was work to be done, there was death in the air;
And the chance was as one to a thousand.”