"They're cows!" he yelled. "Don't shoot!"
But it was too late. The maddened cattle were already at the first pits, plunging in with terrified bellows, or being transfixed on the stakes by the onrush of those behind. The pits were not more than ten feet deep, and only served to check the herd until they were full. Then those following trampled over their dying companions and charged the trenches where the cowboys lay.
"Fire!" yelled Bissell, who was in command, and the guns of nearly seventy men poured a leaden hail of death into the forefront of the heedless cattle.
Larkin's men by this time had drawn off to see that the havoc ran its course, and when they heard the desperate volleys they turned and rode southwest along the river-bank to the point where the sheep expected to cross.
The cattle, which had been driven in a rather narrow column, continued to come on endlessly. The leaders dropped in windrows, but the followers leaped over them only to fall a little farther on.
Driven by the resistless impulse of these behind, the animals unconsciously appeared like a charging regiment. Nearer and nearer the tide approached the cowboys' defenses; but now it was coming more slowly because of the dead bodies and the wounded animals that dragged themselves here and there, bellowing with pain and terror.
At last, at the very mouths of the spitting guns the last of the steers dropped, and the few that remained alive turned tail and fled wildly back the way they had come. In front of the trenches was a horrible tangle of trampled, wounded creatures, rearing as best they could and stabbing one another with their long, sharp horns.
"Everybody out an' kill the ones that ain't dead!" yelled Bissell, and the cowboys leaped over the breastworks on this hazardous errand of mercy.
"Where are the sheep?" was the question every man asked himself and his neighbor, but no one could reply.
It had been reported to Bissell by the scouts that with the sheep were a body of cattle. Consequently when the steers charged all had expected the sheep to follow. But in all that grisly battle-field there was not a head of mutton to be found, and the punchers looked at one another in mystified wonder.
"They must be crossin' somewheres else," said Bissell, wringing his hands in despair. "Oh, blast that man that stampeded them horses!"
The thought was in every man's mind, for here the beauty of that strategy was made manifest. Uninjured, full of fight, and furious, the forces of the cowmen were helpless because they had nothing to ride, and were utterly useless on foot.
Two miles away on the bank of the river another scene was being enacted.
Here the eight thousand sheep had come to a halt with the leaders on the very bank, and the herders walking back and forth talking to them to keep them quiet. The river was not more deep than the height of a man, but the current was swift and icy with the snows of the far-off Shoshone Mountains.
"Are you ready, boys?" sang out Larkin.
"All ready."
"Strip and into it, then," and, the first to obey his own command, he hurried off his clothes and plunged into the frigid river.
Sims, who had devised this scheme from memory of an Indian custom, stood at the head of the leaders to superintend the crossing.
Now the men entered the water by tens, and stretched out in a double line all the way from bank to bank, facing each other and leaving but a scant yard between them.
"Ready?" yelled Sims.
"Ready! Let 'em go!" sang out Larkin.
The chief herder and others heaved the leading sheep into the water between the first two men. These lifted it along to the next pair who shoved it on, swimming all the time. So it came snorting and blatting to the other side and climbed up the bank.
After it came the next, and then the next, and as the work became easier the sheep caught the notion that man had suggested and incorporated it into the flock mind. They took to the water because their predecessors had.
And now the stream of sheep was steady and continuous. The current was swift and the men's bodies ached and grew numb in the intense cold, but they stood their ground. Only in one place was the water too deep to work, and here they lost a few terror-stricken animals who turned aside from the chain and were swept downstream.
The river between the men was churned like that of a rapid; there was heard the constant _slap-slap!_ of their arms as they smote the water in pushing the sheep along. A man took cramp and clung to a companion until he could kick it out of himself.
At last, though, all the sheep had passed over the river, and Bud Larkin had won!
Then came the getting over of the wagons and camp outfits, all done in the dark, and with scarcely sound enough to be heard a furlong away. As some men worked, others dressed and swam the horses over, leading them in bunches.
Presently, dressed, happy, and glowing with the reaction from his icy bath, Bud Larkin appeared out of the dark beside Juliet Bissell.
"You are the one who has enabled me to do all this," he said gently. "Now, will you go over with me or will you go down the river to your father two miles away?"
She looked up at him proudly.
"To the victor belongs the spoils," she said, and lifted her face to him. "Are you going to make me go?"
"Darling!" he cried in the sweet, low voice she loved and drew her to him.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE STORY OF LESTER
Bud's sleep of exhaustion was ended by the sound of voices calling to one another. So deep had been his unconsciousness that as he slowly struggled back to light and reason he forgot where he was and what had happened.
One thing was certain, the sun had been up a long while, and it was growing extremely hot even under the sheltering cottonwood tree where he lay.
The voices continued to call to one another, and Bud finally sat up to investigate.
On the opposite bank another camp was being made by bow-legged men who wore heavy chaps over their trousers, broad hats, and knotted neckerchiefs. Some of these men limped, and most of them swore at their cramped toes as they went about the business in hand.
A short distance away from where Bud sat some of the sheepmen were lying comfortably on their elbows, chaffing the punchers.
"I allow you cowmen're gettin' pretty swell," remarked one. "They tell me yuh kinder hanker after photygrafts of yerselves. How about it?"
"Better lose a hoss fer the sake of yer good looks than be a comic valentine all yore life, what?" was the drawling retort.
"Mebbe so, but if I'd lost hosses the way you fellers did last night I wouldn't have enough vanity left no ways to look a pony in the left leg. I'd go to raisin' grasshoppers to sell to old ladies' chicken ranches, I plumb would."
At this sally such a guffaw of laughter greeted the discomfited punchers that they retired from the field for the time being. Larkin grinned with the rest. Then he turned his attention to the little tent set up near by between two trees. He remembered that Julie had slept there and wondered if she were awake yet.
He called her name and presently a very sleepy voice responded, so tender and helpless in its accents that he laughed for joy.
"Lazy girl!" he cried. "Do you know what time it is? I've been up for hours."
"All right; I'll get up, I suppose. Is breakfast ready?"
"Not quite," he replied seriously, "but I'll have the maid bring it in as soon as the eggs are shirred."
"Bud Larkin, you're horrid!" she cried. "I don't believe you have even started a fire. Do you expect me to get your breakfast?"
"It would tickle me silly," he confessed, unrepentant. "Shall I wait for you? You see the cooks are getting dinner now. Breakfast was over hours ago."
"Oh,