tting there discussing things, when we heard Bain
coming in, after unsaddling his horse, in quite a noisy mood. He was
muttering hard, and I wondered what Edna had been saying to him. But it
wasn't Edna at all. He had come down from the other ranche, higher up
the valley, and had passed the cornfields, in which he had noticed
unusual movement. He had investigated, and had found that a bunch of
wild cattle had broken down the fences, and were eating and trampling
down the corn.

A hasty consultation decided that we should make a midnight raid on the
beasts, and take as many of them as we could capture down to King City
with our own bunch. We had been feeling rather sleepy, but this news
made us at once very much alive. However, we decided not to undertake
the raid until the next night. The wild cattle would be gone with the
morning light, but they would return at dark.

We went to bed, which meant simply rolling ourselves up in our blankets
on the floor. I lay awake for some time anticipating the excitement of
the next evening. It is not all play, this raiding of wild cattle. It is
a risky business, and you must have expert lassoers to lead the way, or
there will be trouble.

Next day we went up to the old settler's ranche, "Edna's house," as we
called it, up the valley, and there we secured the help of some of our
neighbour's men. We were there all the evening, waiting for the hour of
midnight at which to sally forth. Edna had expressed a desire to come
too! She was a fine horsewoman, and fearless, and she loved excitement
of this sort. Tom promised to take care of her, so she was permitted to
join our party. Lucky Tom!

As the little clock on the settler's mantelpiece struck twelve, we
saddled our horses and set off for the corn-brake. I was keen on seeing
how these fellows were going to capture the wild cattle, but I was too
inexperienced to take a very active part at the time.

The corn-patch was right in the hollow of the valley, on a flat on the
eastern bank of the dry bed of the river. We rode down together--never a
word being spoken on the way--to where a group of oak-trees raised their
stately heads, and there we held our final council of war. Bain, anxious
to give a tenderfoot a chance of seeing as much of the proceedings as
possible, directed me to get off my horse and climb the bank, from which
I should obtain a view of the field and of the cattle as they were
feeding. I was very quiet, for the beasts ha