Nort and Dick had heard and read so much about a cattle stampede, and heard such a calamity discussed at the ranch house so often, that they rather welcomed, than otherwise, the announcement that one was being staged near them. This was before they realized the full import of it, and saw the danger.

It was like a prairie fire they had not realized it could be so terrible and menacing until they actually saw it. And see it they did.

There was needed but a quick backward glance to show that a great fear, or rage, which is almost the same, had entered into the three hundred steers (more or less) that were being driven onward.

At one moment the cattle had been progressing in what might be termed orderly fashion. Now and then a steer would try to break out of the line of march, only to be quickly hazed in again by one of the cowboys, or one of the trio of boy ranchers. But now the whole herd had suddenly been galvanized into action, and that action took the form of running forward at top speed.

It would not have been so bad, perhaps, if the stampede had started from in front. If the forward ranks of cattle had begun to race onward, those behind would simply have followed, and there would gradually have been a slackening up. Of course then there would have been some danger, for the front steers might have slowed down first, while those at the rear still came on, trampling under their sharp hoofs those who were unlucky enough to fall.

But, as it happened, the fright had first seized on the rear bunches of cattle and these had started to run, charging in upon those in front of them, who, in turn, were hurled forward until now, a few seconds after Bud had shouted the alarm, the whole herd was in wild motion.

“Come on!” yelled Bud. “Ride for it! Oh, zowie, boy! Ride for it! Ride like Zip Foster would!” and with voice, reins and spurs he urged his pony forward.

“What do you aim to do?” shouted Dick in his cousin’s ear as the two thudded along side by side.

“We’ve got to get far enough ahead so we can try to turn ’em!” yelled Bud. “It’s our only chance. Ride straight ahead!”

Nort spurred up alongside of his cousin and brother, and, as he did so he yelled:

“What you s’pose started ’em off, Bud?”

“Haven’t any time to do any s’posin’ now!” was the grim answer. “Ride on and say your prayers that your pony doesn’t step in a prairie dog’s hole. If he does and you fall good night!”

The recent tenderfeet knew, without being told, what was meant. To go down before a herd of wild cattle, infuriated because they were frightened, would mean sure death and in horrible form.

As Nort looked back, to see what distance lay between himself and comrades, and the foremost of the herd, he saw several figures on horseback at one side of the running animals. At first he imagined these were Diamond X cowboys who had been in the rear of the steers, and he thought they had ridden up to help the boy ranchers turn the stampeded animals. But another look showed him the men who had been in the rear still in those positions, though they were spurring forward at top speed.

“Look, Bud!” cried Nort. He pointed to the four figures there were no more than that at the left of the galloping herd.

“Rustlers Greasers!” shouted Bud. “They started this stampede!”

“What for?” Dick wanted to know. “They can’t hope to run off any under our eyes, can they?”

“They’re doing it to get fresh meat!” declared Bud, who never ceased, all this while, to urge his pony forward, an example followed by his cousins with their horses. “They think some steer, or maybe half a dozen, will fall and be trampled to death. Then they’ll have all the beef they can eat for nothing. They started this stampede, or I’ll never speak to Zip Foster again.”

By this time, knowing Bud as they did, Nort and Dick had ceased to ask about the mysterious Zip Foster. But Nort could not forego the question:

“How’d they do it?”

“Do what?” grunted Bud, as he skillfully turned his pony away from a prairie dog’s hole.

“Start this stampede.”

“Hanged if I know. They might have been lying in wait for us to come along hidden out on the range, and they may have all jumped up with whoops, waving their hats, and setting the steers off that way, when we didn’t happen to be looking. But that’s where the disturbance came from all right!”

With snorts, bellows and heavy breathing the steers came on. Some were old Texas longhorns, but many of the cattle on the Diamond X ranch, and the adjacent possessions of Mr. Merkel, had been dehorned. It was found that more animals could be packed in a car when they had no interfering horns, and the practice is becoming general of taking the horns off western stock.

But even though some were without horns, this herd was sufficiently dangerous. The first thought of Bud and his cousins was to put all the distance possible between them and the foremost of the steers. This they had now done. And it was becoming evident that unless some of the leaders tripped and went down, there was to be no disastrous piling up of animals one on the other. The leaders ran well, and the others followed.

The rustlers, if such they were, seemed to realize that their desperate plan had failed, for, so far, not a beef had fallen. And the Greasers, off to one side, dared not try to cut out, and run off, any animals. To have ventured into the midst of that charging herd would have been madness.

“Come on! Let’s see if we can turn ’em!” urged Bud, drawing his gun, an example followed by Nort and Dick. Led by the son of the owner of Diamond X, the boy ranchers charged down on the oncoming herd, from which they had just ridden away. But now they had the advantage. They stood a better chance. If they could turn the leaders, sending them in a circle, the other animals would follow, and soon the whole bunch would be “milling,” which is the most desired way to stop a stampede.

“Come on! Come a ridin’! Whoop-ee!” shrilly cried Bud, yelling, waving his hat in one hand and firing in the air with his gun. Nort and Dick did likewise. Straight at the cattle they rode.

It was a desperate chance, but one that had to be taken. Bud knew, if the others did not, that about a mile beyond lay a gully, led up to by a cliff, and if the steers and cows reached this, the leaders unable to stop, while the rear ranks pushed on, there would be a mass of piled-up, dead cattle to tell the story.

“We’ve got to stop ’em!” shouted Bud.

And stop them, or, rather, turn them, the boy ranchers did. Just when it seemed that the wild animals would rush over, and trample down the three lads, the foremost of the steers turned at a sharp angle, their hoofs skidding in the soil, and swung around.

“Now we’ve got ’em!” cried Bud. “Make ’em mill! Make ’em mill!”

And this is what the cattle did. Around and around they ran, in a big, dusty circle, while the other Diamond X cowboys rode up.

“That was touch and go,” said one of the older riders, when the herd was comparatively quiet. “What started ’em off, Bud?”

“Didn’t you see that bunch of Greasers?” asked the rancher’s son.

The cowboys had not, it developed, and now, when the three boys tried to point out the rascals the quartette was not in sight. However, something else took the attention of Bud and the older cowboys. This something was a small bunch of steers, galloping off by themselves, but not being hazed by any riders.

“We can’t lose them!” shouted Bud. “They belong to dad! Got to get ’em back!”

“We’ll go after ’em,” offered Nort and Dick. “We can bring ’em back.”

“Yes, I reckon you can, while we ride herd on these,” said Bud. “I don’t want to take any more chances with ’em. Haze the outlaws back this way, fellows!”

Eager to have this responsibility, and to do something “on their own,” Dick and his brother spurred away. And before they realized it, Nort and Dick found themselves down in a depression, whence they could catch sight neither of the small knot of cattle they had started out to haze back, nor the main herd.

“Say, where are we?” asked Dick, slowing up his pony, and looking about him. He and Nort were down in a green valley, with hills all around, but no sign of life animal or human. “Where are we?”

Nort paused a moment before replying. Then, as he drew rein and listened, he said:

“Lost, I reckon!”