A circle of dust began to collect. Dimly, as through a
yellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders inward to close
the gap in the sage. She lost sight of him in the dust, again she
thought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himself
and fall. Lassiter had been thrown--lost! Then he reappeared
running out of the dust into the sage. He had escaped, and she
breathed again.
Spellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel of
steers. Here was the milling of the herd. The white running
circle closed in upon the open space of sage. And the dust
circles closed above into a pall. The ground quaked and the
incessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on. Jane felt
deafened, yet she thrilled to a new sound. As the circle of sage
lessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirely
there came a great upheaval in the center, and a terrible
thumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing,
goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a
crashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came a
deadlock. The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and
crash. Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too,
gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and the
pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.
Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful
heart. Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through
the sage.
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