For to stumble meant, very likely, the death of horse and rider. Cattle on the range are used to seeing mounted men--in fact they seldom see them otherwise, and for a mounted cowpuncher it is perfectly safe to ride in front of even a wildly running mass of steers. But once let a man be on foot, while the cattle do not actually attack him, they seem to lose all fear of him, and may trample ruthlessly over him. Then is when a cowpuncher's life depends on his steed. The cattle seem to regard horse and man as one and as a superior being to whom they must give place. That is why Dave did not want his horse to stumble and throw him. For his life, and that of his fine steed, Crow, would not have lasted a minute under the pounding rush of those sharp hoofs. While thus riding wildly at the rushing steers Dave had many thoughts in his mind. "How did they get out?" he mused. "The gate and fastenings were all right five minutes ago. And I wonder if I can turn them and drive them back alone? I've got to, that's all, for I don't see any help coming." Dave rose in his stirrups and gave a quick frightened, tumultuous mass of steers. "But don't glance ahead of him and over the backs of the steers. He saw no one in sight, and settling in the saddle again, prepared for the work ahead of him. "Got to have some more shots, anyhow," Dave reasoned. His revolver was empty. Fortunately Dave had trained Crow so that he could ride him without the use of the reins--merely by the pressure of the knees on either side of his neck. Dropping the leather, Dave broke his gun, scattered the empty shells out on the ground, and filled the chamber with fresh cartridges. He depended upon the thundering reports of his forty-five, as much as on his voice and his fearless riding straight at the oncoming steers, to drive them back. Now again he was ready for his task, and it was high time, for he was almost at the front line of advancing cattle. Shouting, waving his big hat with one hand, and with the other working the trigger of his gun, Dave sought to drive back the maddened animals. He put into his action all the energy of which he was capable, rising in his stirrups as though he would hurl himself over the head of his horse at the beasts. "Steady now, Crow!" he called into the ear of his faithful pony, leaning over far on its neck. The front line of cattle began to divide to let Dave through, or, rather, to pass around him. But he did not want that. He wanted to turn the animals back. "Oh, if I only had some one to help me!" he cried aloud. Once more his gaze swept over the backs of the cattle. Yes, there was a figure on horseback, but it was riding away, straight toward the foot-hills. "Here!" cried Dave. "Come back! Give me a hand here, whoever you are! Come back!" But the figure did not turn, and then Dave, with anger and disgust showing in his face, thought he recognized in the peculiar style of the rider something familiar.