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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
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