Mounted on a good horse, one might hope to ride clear of the advancing avalanche of hoofs and horns.  But his steed was lame, and hardly able to limp along.  The situation was one calculated to arouse a boy as he had never been awakened before in all his life.

Frank jumped upon the back of his horse.  He knew instantly that his one hope must lie in getting clear of the immense herd; and that this could only be done by either riding faster than they were going down the wide valley, or in making for the nearest hillside, where trees would offer him a refuge.

He chose the latter.  Flight in a straightaway course was utterly out of the question with a cripple between his knees.

“Get up, Hector!  Do your prettiest now!” he called to his horse.

The poor beast was trying his hardest to run well, but making only a pretense, after all, since that lame leg kept him from speedy progress.  Doubtless Hector, being a cow pony, knew full well the nature of the peril that menaced them, and if it lay in his power he would bear his young master to a point of safety.

Frank’s heart seemed to be in his throat as he leaned forward and listened to the rapidly approaching roar of hundreds upon hundreds of hoofs, mingled with the horrid clashing of horns.  Added to this was the deep-toned thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning.

Once, when he looked to the left, he could see the moving mass that was sweeping horribly close.  After that he resolutely kept his attention riveted in front, where the ridge loomed up against the darkened heavens.

Everything depended upon how far he was from the nearest trees.  Seconds counted with Frank just then.  The lightning flashed every quarter of a minute, and yet it seemed to him that they were ages apart.

With his heart in his throat, as it seemed, he stared ahead, and waited for the next flash to show him the worst.  Unless the trees were close by, his case seemed hopeless, for the main herd appeared to have pushed over to this side of the valley, unfortunately, showing that he had picked the wrong course when he started.

Hector stumbled more than once, and Frank feared he would be thrown.  He even wondered whether it would not be better for him to throw himself to the ground while he had the chance, and trust to his own legs to carry him to safety.

Then came the eagerly anticipated flash.  Hope sprang anew in his breast, for he had discovered the trees close at hand.  One more gallant effort on the part of the crippled pony, and they managed to pass behind the outposts of the timber, just as the beginning of the terrible rushing stampede swept by.

There Frank sat upon his pony, breathing hard, and patting the poor animal reassuringly.  He could hear the loud cries of the cowboys and Mr. Mabie as they circled about the terrified cattle, trying by every means possible to influence them to mill; but in that gloom it was impossible to carry out the usual tactics, and by degrees the sounds died away far down the valley.