een pressed down upon the
mound, Webb turned to business. The herd scattered over thirty miles of
country must be gathered at once and he set about the round-up. He had
had bad runs on the trail before and he knew the job before his men was
no easy one.

They jogged out on a Spanish trot in the trail of the stampede. The chuck
wagon was to meet them at Spring River next morning, where the first
gather of beeves would be brought and held. All night they rode, tough as
hickory, strong as whip-cord. Into the desert sky sifted the gray light
which preceded the coming of day. Banners of mauve and amethyst and topaz
were flung across the horizon, to give place to glorious splashes of
purple and pink and crimson. The sun, a flaming ball of fire, rose big as
a washtub from the edge of the desert.

In that early morning light crept over the plain little bunches of cattle
followed by brown, lithe riders. Like spokes of a wheel each group moved
to a hub. Old Black Ned, the cook, was the focus of their travel. For at
Spring River he had waiting for them hot coffee, flaky biscuits, steaks
hot from the coals. Each rider seized a tin cup, a tin plate, a knife and
fork, and was ready for the best Uncle Ned had to offer.

The remuda had been brought up by the wranglers. While the horses milled
about in a cloud of dust, each puncher selected another mount. He
moved forward, his loop trailing, eye fixed on the one pony, out of one
hundred and fifty, that he wanted for the day's work. Suddenly a rope
would snake forward past half a dozen broncos and drop about the neck of
an animal near the heart of the herd. The twisting, dodging cowpony would
surrender instantly and submit to being cut out from the band. Saddles
were slapped on in a hurry and the riders were again on their way.

Through the mesquite they rode, slackening speed for neither gullies nor
barrancas. Webb gave orders crisply, disposed of his men in such a way
as to make of them a drag-net through which no cattle could escape, and
began to tighten the loops for the drive back to camp.

By the middle of the afternoon the chuck wagon was in sight. The ponies
were fagged, the men weary. For thirty-six hours these riders, whose
muscles seemed tough as whalebone, had been almost steadily in the
saddle. They slouched along now easily, always in a gray cloud of dust
raised by the bellowing cattle.

The new gather of cattle was thrown in with those that had been rounded
up during