As the cattle at the lower end of the crescent were thus brought near, Sibyl beheld the flecking spume of their foaming mouths as it was flung into the air and glistened on their heads and bodies. She could even see the insane glare of their eyes, as they drove toward her in their unheeding course. The thunder of their hoofs was making the ground shake. “Ride, ride!” Clayton shouted, his voice tremulous. “We can get through. We must get through!” Even the horses seemed to know what threatened now. Leaping into the narrowing gap, they answered this last appeal of heel, whip, and voice with a further increase of speed. Clayton bent forward in his saddle as if he would hurl himself on, and in the extremity of his anxiety reached out his stiff hand toward Sibyl’s bridle to urge her horse to even a swifter pace. They were riding dangerously near the cañon wall. Hidden as the cañon was by tall grass, the cattle were driving straight toward it, as though determined to hurl themselves and these wild riders into its depths. And now the heaving backs, the tapering horns, the glaring eyes, the shining gossamer threads of wispy spume, and the tortured dust cloud, seemed to be flung together into the very faces of the riders. For a moment Sibyl thought all was lost; in imagination she was being impaled on those tapering horns. She heard Clayton yelling encouragement. Then, with spurning feet, the horses passed through the narrow passage; and behind them broke a bellowing tumult, as the foremost cattle began to plunge downward into the cañon. Sibyl reeled in her saddle, and Clayton put out his stiff hand to support her. Behind them was that wild roar, where the living cascade was pouring over the cañon wall; and the danger was behind them, and past, he thought. [Illustration: “Behind them broke a bellowing tumult, as the foremost cattle began to plunge downward into the cañon”] But suddenly the shooting torrent of bellowing animals was stopped. The portion of the herd which had followed madly after the fleeing riders along the wall, and had been augmented greatly in numbers, struck this lower line. It was like the impact of two cross sections of a landslide. The weaker gave way, over-borne and crushed; and the larger herd streamed on, over a tangle of fallen bodies, adding to the tangled pile and treading each other down in wild confusion. The danger was not past. Clayton’s stiff hand settled Sibyl’s reeling form in the saddle. He was shaking with the strain of his exertions and his emotions. His face was set like a mask and his dark eyes glittered feverishly. “We must ride on!” he urged. “Just a little farther! I’ll help you, but we must ride on!”