ave to go with you. But, man,
thirst is not the only risk we run. This is Comanche country. And if
that herd is in here the Indians have it spotted."

"That worries me some," replied the plainsman, "but we'll keep on it."

They slept. The night wind swished the grasses; dark storm clouds
blotted out the northern stars; the prairie wolves mourned dismally.

Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a leaden sky. The hunters
traveled thirty miles by noon, and halted in a hollow where a stream
flowed in wet season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into green;
thickets of prickly thorn, dense and matted, showed bright spring buds.

"What is it?" suddenly whispered Rude.

The plainsman lay in strained posture, his ear against the ground.

"Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cottonwoods," he ordered,
tersely. Springing to his feet, he ran to the top of the knoll above
the hollow, where he again placed his ear to the ground.

Jones's practiced ear had detected the quavering rumble of far-away,
thundering hoofs. He searched the wide waste of plain with his powerful
glass. To the southwest, miles distant, a cloud of dust mushroomed
skyward. "Not buffalo," he muttered, "maybe wild horses." He watched
and waited. The yellow cloud rolled forward, enlarging, spreading out,
and drove before it a darkly indistinct, moving mass. As soon as he had
one good look at this he ran back to his comrades.

"Stampede! Wild horses! Indians! Look to your rifles and hide!"

Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps, and made ready to
follow Jones. He slipped into the thorny brake and, flat on his
stomach, wormed his way like a snake far into the thickly interlaced
web of branches. Rude and Adams crawled after him. Words were
superfluous. Quiet, breathless, with beating hearts, the hunters
pressed close to the dry grass. A long, low, steady rumble filled the
air, and increased in volume till it became a roar. Moments, endless
moments, passed. The roar filled out like a flood slowly released from
its confines to sweep down with the sound of doom. The ground began to
tremble and quake: the light faded; the smell of dust pervaded the
thicket, then a continuous streaming roar, deafening as persistent roll
of thunder, pervaded the hiding place. The stampeding horses had split
round the hollow. The roar lessened. Swiftly as a departing snow-squall
rushing on through the pines, the thunderous thud and tramp of hoofs
died away.

The tra