From that moment so many things happened, and so swiftly, that Madeline could not see a tenth of what was going on within eyesight. It seemed horsemen darted into the herd and drove out cattle. Madeline pinned her gaze on one cowboy who rode a white horse and was chasing a steer. He whirled a lasso around his head and threw it; the rope streaked out and the loop caught the leg of the steer. The white horse stopped with wonderful suddenness, and the steer slid in the dust. Quick as a flash the cowboy was out of the saddle, and, grasping the legs of the steer before it could rise, he tied them with a rope. It had all been done almost as quickly as thought. Another man came with what Madeline divined was a branding-iron. He applied it to the flank of the steer. Then it seemed the steer was up with a jump, wildly looking for some way to run, and the cowboy was circling his lasso. Madeline saw fires in the background, with a man in charge, evidently heating the irons. Then this same cowboy roped a heifer which bawled lustily when the hot iron seared its hide. Madeline saw the smoke rising from the touch of the iron, and the sight made her shrink and want to turn away, but she resolutely fought her sensitiveness. She had never been able to bear the sight of any animal suffering. The rough work in men’s lives was as a sealed book to her; and now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, she wanted to see and hear and learn some of the every-day duties that made up those lives. “Look, Miss Hammond, there’s Don Carlos!” said Florence. “Look at that black horse!” Madeleine saw a dark-faced Mexican riding by. He was too far away for her to distinguish his features, but he reminded her of an Italian brigand. He bestrode a magnificent horse. Stillwell rode up to the girls then and greeted them in his big voice. “Right in the thick of it, hey? Wal, thet’s sure fine. I’m glad to see, Miss Majesty, thet you ain’t afraid of a little dust or smell of burnin’ hide an’ hair.” “Couldn’t you brand the calves without hurting them?” asked Madeline. “Haw, haw! Why, they ain’t hurt none. They jest bawl for their mammas. Sometimes, though, we hev to hurt one jest to find which is his mamma.” “I want to know how you tell what brand to put on those calves that are separated from their mothers,” asked Madeline. “Thet’s decided by the round-up bosses. I’ve one boss an’ Don Carlos has one. They decide everything, an’ they hev to be obyed. There’s Nick Steele, my boss. Watch him! He’s ridin’ a bay in among the cattle there. He orders the calves an’ steers to be cut out. Then the cowboys do the cuttin’ out an’ the brandin’. We try to divide up the mavericks as near as possible.” At this juncture Madeline’s brother joined the group, evidently in search of Stillwell. “Bill, Nels just rode in,” he said. “Good! We sure need him. Any news of Danny Mains?” “No. Nels said he lost the trail when he got on hard ground.”