The herd started on the morning of the 25th.  I had a good outfit of men, only four of whom were with me the year before.  The spring could not be considered an early one, and therefore we traveled slow for the first few weeks, meeting with two bad runs, three days apart, but without the loss of a hoof.  These panics among the cattle were unexplainable, as they were always gorged with grass and water at bedding time, the weather was favorable, no unseemly noises were heard by the men on guard, and both runs occurred within two hours of daybreak.  There was a half-breed Mexican in the outfit, a very quiet man, and when the causes of the stampedes were being discussed around the camp-fire, I noticed that he shrugged his shoulders in derision of the reasons advanced.  The half-breed was my horse wrangler, old in years and experience, and the idea struck me to sound him as to his version of the existing trouble among the cattle.  He was inclined to be distant, but I approached him cautiously, complimented him on his handling of the remuda, rode with him several hours, and adroitly drew out his opinion of what caused our two stampedes.  As he had never worked with the herd, his first question was, did we receive any blind cattle or had any gone blind since we started?  He then informed me that the old Spanish rancheros would never leave a sightless animal in a corral with sound ones during the night for fear of a stampede.  He cautioned me to look the herd over carefully, and if there was a blind animal found to cut it out or the trouble would he repeated in spite of all precaution.  I rode back and met the herd, accosting every swing man on one side with the inquiry if any blind animal had been seen, without results until the drag end of the cattle was reached.  Two men were at the rear, and when approached with the question, both admitted noticing, for the past week, a beef which acted as if he might be crazy.  I had them point out the steer, and before I had watched him ten minutes was satisfied that he was stone blind.  He was a fine, big fellow, in splendid flesh, but it was impossible to keep him in the column; he was always straggling out and constantly shying from imaginary objects.  I had the steer roped for three or four nights and tied to a tree, and as the stampeding ceased we cut him out every evening when bedding down the herd, and allowed him to sleep alone.  The poor fellow followed us, never venturing to leave either day or night, but finally fell into a deep ravine and broke his neck.  His affliction had befallen him on the trail, affecting his nervous system to such an extent that he would jump from imaginary objects and thus stampede his brethren.  I remember it occurred to me, then, how little I knew about cattle, and that my wrangler and I ought to exchange places.  Since that day I have always been an attentive listener to the humblest of my fellowmen when interpreting the secrets of animal life.