If he tied the cow to the stirrup of his saddle and she showed no disposition to escape, then he could walk and drive the work-horses ahead, returning for his saddle-horse and the cow! This, to be sure, was a slow process, but it was an improvement over spending the night going around in a circle. Wallie tied the cow's rope to the stirrup and both animals stood as if they were nailed to the spot while he ran after the work-horses, who had wandered in another direction. His boots, he noted, were not adapted to walking as they pinched in the toes and instep. He could not stop for such a small matter at this critical moment, however, so he continued to run until he overtook the horses and started them homeward. Turning to look at the cow and his saddle-horse, he saw them walking briskly, side by side, like soul-mates who understood each other perfectly, in the opposite direction from which he wanted them to go. He left the horses and ran after the cow, shouting: "Whoa--can't you?" He reasoned swiftly that the Jersey was the nucleus of a herd which would one day run up into the thousands, and he must get her at all hazards. "Whoa! Bossy--wait for me!" he pleaded as at top speed he went after her. "Good bossy! Good bossy!" His quavering voice was pathetic. At the sound of his voice the horse stopped, turned its head, and looked at him. The cow stopped also. Intensely relieved, Wallie dropped to a walk, congratulating himself that the livery horse chanced to be so well trained and obedient. As he approached, the cow stepped forward that she might look under the horse's neck and watch her pursuer. Both animals stood like statues, regarding him intently. When within fifty feet Wallie said in a conciliatory tone to show them that he stood ready to forgive them in spite of the inconvenience to which they had put him: "Nice horsey! Good bossy!" Quite as if it were a signal, "Nice horsey and good bossy" started at a trot which quickly left Wallie far behind them. Wallie ran until he felt that his overtaxed lungs were bursting. His boots were killing him, his shin bones ached, and his feet at every step sank to the ankles in the loose sand. It was like running through a bog. He pursued until he was bent double with the effort and his legs grew numb. The perspiration streamed from under his stylish derby, his stock wilted, and his clothing was as wet as if it had been raining. When his legs would carry him not one step farther he stopped and looked after the cow and horse--who were still doing perfect team-work, trotting side by side as evenly as if they had been harnessed together. They stopped instantly when he stopped, and, as before, the horse turned its head to look back at him while the cow peered under its neck at Wallie.