The night-guard slowly
circles the herd, the men relieving each other at stated
intervals.
On rainy, stormy nights, the guard has to double, as the cattle
are restless and easily stampeded. Under a clear sky, breathing
the bracing air of the plains, with the herd well in hand, the
day's work is a pleasant one. But in a steady downpour, with the
thunder rolling and the animals full of fear, the task is one to
tax the stoutest heart.
The cause of a stampede is always some trifle. A heavy clap of
thunder, a flash of lightning, the breaking of a stick, the howl
of a wolf, will start the herd off in a blind rush in any
direction, heedless of cliffs over which they may tumble, or of
rivers whose current will sweep hundreds of the frightened beasts
to death.
Once the cattle are off on a stampede, the cowboys ride
recklessly, madly to the head of the herd, getting to one side of
the leaders. With shouts and pistol-shots they turn the leaders
to one side, gradually at first, and then into the arc of a great
circle. Blindly racing after the leaders the other cattle
follow; and round they plunge until head and tail of the herd
meet, and "milling" begins. Any that fall are ground to death by
the hoofs of the others. This mighty grind continues until the
animals are exhausted or they have recovered from the fight.
To soothe the hysterical beasts, the men begin to sing. Any song
will do, but the drawling old hymn tunes of the Methodist
camp-meetings have the best effect.
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