RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
"I don't like the looks of them big steers. But you can never tell. Cattle sometimes stampede as easily as buffalo. Any little flash or move will start them. A rider gettin' down an' walkin' toward them sometimes will make them jump an' fly. Then again nothin' seems to scare them. But I reckon that white flare will do the biz. It's a new one on me, an' I've seen some ridin' an' rustlin'. It jest takes one of them God-fearin' Mormons to think of devilish tricks."
"Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring's men?" asked Jane, ever grasping at straws.
"It might be, but it ain't," replied Lassiter. "Oldrin's an honest thief. He don't skulk behind ridges to scatter your cattle to the four winds. He rides down on you, an' if you don't like it you can throw a gun."
Jane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at the very moment were proving to her that they were little and mean compared even with rustlers.
"Look! . . . Jane, them leadin' steers have bolted! They're drawin' the stragglers, an' that 'll pull the whole herd."
Jane was not quick enough to catch the details called out by Lassiter, but she saw the line of cattle lengthening. Then, like a stream of white bees pouring from a huge swarm, the steers stretched out from the main body. In a few moments, with astonishing rapidity, the whole herd got into motion. A faint roar of trampling hoofs came to Jane's ears, and gradually swelled; low, rolling clouds of dust began to rise above the sage.
"It's a stampede, an' a hummer," said Lassiter.
"Oh, Lassiter! The herd's running with the valley! It leads into the cañon! There's a straight jump-off!"
"I reckon they'll run into it, too. But that's a good many miles yet. An' Jane, this valley swings round almost north before it goes east. That stampede will pass within a mile of us."
The long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly
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