mesa beyond. The cattle
crowded so close that some of them were forced down the bed of the gorge
instead of up the opposite bank.

Bob galloped along the edge and tried to head the animals back by firing
his revolver in front from above. In this he was not successful. The
gulch was narrow, and the pressure behind drove the foremost cattle on to
the river.

The dogies waded in to drink. The push of the rear still impelled the
ones in advance to move deeper into the water. Presently the leaders were
swimming out into the stream. Those behind followed at heel.

Dillon flung his horse down into the ravine in the headlong fashion he
had learned from months of hill riding. He cantered along it, splashing
through shallow pools and ploughing into tangled brush. When he came
within sight of the river the cattle were emerging from it upon a sandy
bar that formed an island in midstream.

He kicked off his chaps, remounted, and headed into the water. The
current was strong and Powder River already tired. But the bronco
breasted the rushing waters gamely. It was swept downstream, fighting
every inch of the way. When at last the Wyoming horse touched bottom, it
was at the lower edge of the long bar.

Bob swung down into the water and led his mount ashore.

From the bank he had just left, Hawks called to him. "Want I should come
over, or can you handle 'em?"

"Better stay there till I see if I can start 'em back," Bob shouted.

On Powder River he rounded up the cattle, a score or more of them, and
drove them back into the stream. They went reluctantly, for they too were
tired and the swim across had been a hard one. But after one or two had
started the others followed.

The young cowpuncher did not like the look of the black rushing waters.
He had known one horrible moment of terror while he was crossing, that
moment during which he had been afraid Powder River would be swept beyond
the point of the sand spit. Now he cringed at the thought of venturing
into that flood again. He postponed the hazard, trying two or three
starting-places tentatively before he selected one at the extreme upper
point of the island.

His choice was a bad one. The bronco was carried down into a swirl of
deep, angry water. So swift was the undertow that Powder River was
dragged from beneath its rider. Bob caught at the mane of the horse and
clung desperately to it with one hand. A second or two, and this was torn
from his clutch.

Dillon was was