of these wild plunging steers ran Lassiter’s black, and Jane’s keen eye appreciated the fleet stride and sure-footedness of the blind horse.  Then it seemed that the herd moved in a great curve, a huge half-moon with the points of head and tail almost opposite, and a mile apart But Lassiter relentlessly crowded the leaders, sheering them to the left, turning them little by little.  And the dust-blinded wild followers plunged on madly in the tracks of their leaders.  This ever-moving, ever-changing curve of steers rolled toward Jane and when below her, scarce half a mile, it began to narrow and close into a circle.  Lassiter had ridden parallel with her position, turned toward her, then aside, and now he was riding directly away from her, all the time pushing the head of that bobbing line inward.

It was then that Jane, suddenly understanding Lassiter’s feat stared and gasped at the riding of this intrepid man.  His horse was fleet and tireless, but blind.  He had pushed the leaders around and around till they were about to turn in on the inner side of the end of that line of steers.  The leaders were already running in a circle; the end of the herd was still running almost straight.  But soon they would be wheeling.  Then, when Lassiter had the circle formed, how would he escape?  With Jane Withersteen prayer was as ready as praise; and she prayed for this man’s safety.  A circle of dust began to collect.  Dimly, as through a yellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders inward to close the gap in the sage.  She lost sight of him in the dust, again she thought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himself and fall.  Lassiter had been thrown—­lost!  Then he reappeared running out of the dust into the sage.  He had escaped, and she breathed again.

Spellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel of steers.  Here was the milling of the herd.  The white running circle closed in upon the open space of sage.  And the dust circles closed above into a pall.  The ground quaked and the incessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on.  Jane felt deafened, yet she thrilled to a new sound.  As the circle of sage lessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirely there came a great upheaval in the center, and a terrible thumping of heads and clicking of horns.  Bawling, climbing, goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a crashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure.  Then came a deadlock.  The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and crash.  Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too, gradually stilled.  The white herd had come to a stop, and the pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.

Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart.  Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage.  And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys.  For the present, at least, the white herd would be looked after.