,
without trying to make any gun plays. And when the stampede was abated
and still no help came they drifted their sheep steadily to the
north, leaving the camp rustlers to bring up the impedimenta as best
they could. Jasper Swope had promised to protect them whenever they
blew their horns, but it was two days since they had seen him, and the
two _Americanos_ had harried them like hawks.

Never had armed men so lacked a leader as on that day. Their orders
were to shoot only in self-defence; for a war was the last thing which
the Swope brothers wanted, with their entire fortunes at stake, and no
show of weapons could daunt the ruthless Grande and Chico. All the
morning the cow horns bellowed and blared as, sweating and swinging
their _hondas_, the stern-eyed _Americanos_ rushed band after band
away. Not a word was passed--no threats, no commands, no warnings for
the future, but like avenging devils they galloped from one herd to
the other and back again, shoving them forward relentlessly, even in
the heat of noon. At evening the seven bands, hopelessly mixed and
mingled in the panic, were halfway through the long pass, and the
herders were white with dust and running. But not until dusk gathered
in the valleys did Creede rein in his lathered horse and turn grimly
back to camp.

His face was white and caked with dust, the dirt lay clotted in his
beard, and only the whites of his eyes, rolling and sanguinary, gave
evidence of his humanity; his shirt, half torn from his body by
plunging through the cat-claws, hung limp and heavy with sweat; and
the look of him was that of a madman, beside himself with rage. The
dirt, the sweat, the grime, were as heavy on Hardy, and his eyes
rolled like a negro's beneath the mask of dust, but weariness had
overcome his madness and he leaned forward upon the horn. They glanced
at each other indifferently and then slumped down to endure the long
ten miles which lay between them and home. It had been a stern fight
and the excitement had lulled their hunger, but now the old, slow pang
gnawed at their vitals and they rolled like drunkards in the saddle.

It was a clear, velvety night, and still, after the wind of the day.
Their horses jogged dumbly along, throwing up their heads at every
step from weariness, and the noises of the night fell dully upon their
jaded ears. But just as they turned into Carrizo Creek canyon, Creede
suddenly reined in old Bat Wings and held up his hand to Hardy.