Hopalong, expecting the silence of death or at least the groaning of injured and dying, was taken aback by the fluent stream of profanity which greeted his ears.  But all efforts in that line were eclipsed when the drive foreman tersely explained about the wire, and the providential mud bath was forgotten in the new idea.  They forthwith clamored for war, and the sooner it came the better they would like it.

“Not now, boys; we’ve got work to do first,” replied Hopalong, who, nevertheless, was troubled grievously by the same itching trigger finger.  They subsided—­as a steel spring subsides when held down by a weight—­and went off in search of their mounts.  Daylight had won the skirmish in the east and was now attacking in force, and revealed a sight which, stilling the profanity for the moment, caused it to flow again with renewed energy.  The plain was a shambles near the creek, and dead and dying steers showed where the fence had stood.  The rest of the herd had passed over these.  The wounded cattle and three horses were put out of their misery as the first duty.  The horse that Hopalong had ridden had a broken back; the other two, broken legs.  When this work was out of the way the bruised and shaken men gave their attention to the scattered cattle on the other side of the creek, and when Hawkins rode up after wasting time in hunting for the trail in the dark, he saw four men with the herd, which was still scattered; four others near the creek, of whom only Johnny was mounted, and a group of six strangers riding towards them from the west and along the fence, or what was left of that portion of it.

“That’s awful!” he cried, stopping his limping horse near Hopalong.  “An’ here come the fools that done it.”

“Yes,” replied Johnny, his voice breaking from rage, “but they won’t go back again!  I don’t care if I’m killed if I can get one or two of that crowd—­”

“Shut up, Kid!” snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near.  “I know just how you feel about it; feel that way myself.  But there ain’t a-going to be no fighting while I’ve got these cows on my han’s.  That gang’ll be here when we come back, all right.”

“Mebby one or two of ’em won’t,” remarked Hawkins, as he looked again over the carnage along the fence.  “I never did much pot-shooting, ’cept agin Injuns; but I dunno—­” He did not finish, for the strangers were almost at his elbow.

Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it without waste of time.  “Who the hell busted that fence?” he demanded, belligerently, looking around savagely.  Johnny’s hand twitched at the words and the way they were spoken.

“I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?” replied Hopalong, very calmly,—­so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion.

“Well, why didn’t you go around?”

“Three thousand stampeding cattle don’t go ’round wire fences in the dark.”

“Well, that’s not our fault.  Reckon you better dig down an’ settle up for the damages, an’ half a cent a head for water; an’ then go ’round.  You can’t stampede through the other fence.”