A NIGHT STAMPEDE.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2522, 8 September 1888, Page 2 (Supplement)

A NIGHT STAMPEDE.

1 First guard 8 till 12,' called the captain, with the addition, ' Better take your slickers boys ; looks like rain.' The three men rose from the lire, stretched and yawned, and picking their slickers from their respective beds, slouched away into the darkness, their clinking spurs sounding faiuter and more indistinct in the distance. A low murmur as they handled their staked horses, a few hoof-beats, and the guard, half a mile away, are saluted witli three laconic ' relief good nights,'and the new guard are riding slowly aroun.l the bedded cattle. Perhaps half a dozen or so of tho latter are standing and uneasily snuffing toward the south-west. The air is still and oppressive, and the scrubby cedars of the south mingle their sweet breath with the pungent sage and red-weed, making the air heavy with its weight of perfume. Tho black ' niggerheads' climb slowly above the peaks and send forth low-drawn occasional sighs that jar the earth like some mighty bull. The slow-riding guard start the old songs to the cattle—quaint, old-fashioned lullabies —coaxing with drowsy tone their long-horned charge, and the waking steer closes his eyes as he listens, and lowers his head to dream of grassy meadows and lovely shades, with neither heel-flies nor gnats to molest, and roundups once in ten years. Round aud round go the riders, stopping occasionally to converse in low tones with their nearest patrolling mate, and then starting again as some restless one, missing the familiar drone, rises to investigate the cause thereof. THE P.REAKING OF THE STORM. Eleven o'clock, and the black clouds are nearly overhead, while flying skirmishers of scud dart across the heavens, the advance line of the army behind. The bulls are on their feet, going among the recumbent ones and horning thein till they rise. The thunder speaks more sharply, and bright flashes of lightning turn the black mass into grey, ragged and torn with the effort to hold the warring factions. A few big drops that sting the cattle into motion, a rattling crash of heaven's artillery, aud the floodgates of wrath are opened, and the deluge let loose. The warm steam of the cattle becomes phosphorescent with electricity, and metamorphoses the cattle into prehistoric monstrosities, while the guards, in their yellow slickers, look like grotesque phamtoms as they flit around the surging mass that commences to overflow at one side as surely as it is crowded back on the other. Back and around ride the three men, crowding and forcing tho unruly herd, that is fairly aching to break and scatter anywhere, everywhere, to escape the raging furies above and around it. A rattling crarli aud a pillar of flame strikes the west side of the herd and settles the questions. With one mighty cry of terror the panic-stricken mass surges to the opposite side. The living sea has broken its frail bounds and is pouring forth in the terrible fury of fear horu rattling against horn, crowding, slipping, trampling, and crushing, but flying as only stampeded cattle can. Side by side with the head of the herd race the guards, urging their little ponies with voices and heel, leaning forward and panting with their eagerness to go faster. On, on over gullies and prairie dog holes, scarcely seeming to rely upon their feet, so little as they regard these death traps, the faithful little horses are carrying their riders Indian file, with the first one racing neck aud neck with the foremost long-horned pilgrim. TRAMPLED BY THE HERD. A moment thus, and the rider's pistol sends a stream of fire hurling about six inches in front of the steer's nose and directly across his path. As the steer swerves to one side, the flying pony stumbles, and horse and rider are hurled in front of these thundering hoofs as the herd goes rolling on. The next rider is now neck and neck in the first one's place, and once more a spiteful, belching stream of fire against the leader's nose turns them, followed by another and another, that swings the foremost ones clear round, and faces the herd into itself, bewildering and milling in a slowing circle, and the stampede is stopped. The two guards left know there is small hope of any relief finding them now before daybreak ; but as the herd quiets down, one rides back and finds their lost mate aud his pony, and then the two take up their lone weary task together. The clouds pass along, the air is chillier, and the long hours drag and creep along. A twitter of the prairie sparrow to his mate, a soft perfumed breeze from the east, and then the long quivering lances of the sun's advance guard glisten above the eastern horizon. And following these outriders come the heralds of the god of day to waken the world to welcome his coining. Tho two wet and thoroughly chilled guards hail his coming with infinite delight, while the feathered choristers make the whole air vibrate to their usual welcome. But two miles away lies one who will never welcome his coming more.—Philadelphia Press.