Arizona republican., 1891-02-22
\ MIDNIGHT STAMPEDE
THE AWFUL RUSH OF FRIGHT
 FINED CATTLE.
How the Men Ride and Sing and Yell in the Endeavor to Check and Turn Them Into Mill.
From the Las Vegas Stock Grower

 that walked out alone for few steps, threw his muzzle towards the north, and after few preliminary snitfs, gave that long, low, peculiar half moan, half bel low that old COW hands have learned means foul weather ahead. Having thus sounded the warning, as it were, the animal turned back and was soon lost in the mighty herd that was nerv- ously cropping the rich grass that grew fetlock high.
 Old Joe, the speaker, turned in his saddle and began to scan the horizon. As he caught sight of a cloud no larger than your hand that was just beginning to show itself away to the northwest, he repeated the prophecy, and added: "An' don't think we'll have any kick acomin' about tine dust termorrer, either"
 The time was in the '70s, the locality, No Mans Land, and we were on the old Dodge trail, with 1890 beeves, bound for Ogalalla. The herd had been put up some six weeks before on the Brazos. At Red river crossing we had picked up a bunch that had been lost out of preyi- ous drive belonging to the same com pany. These steers were placed in our herd against the advice of old Joe. "They air ole stampeders, and they'll spile the whole herd. Let 'em wait for one of them dogie outfits behind us."
 When it came to cattle, and especially trail cattle, the old man was an author ity. Among the kids" his word on any subject pertaining to stock was accepted as gospel.
 However, the foreman determined to risk it, and in they went. The addition had been made only few days when a change began to be noticed. The veriest tenderfoot could see that the herd was growing uneasy and restless. Instead of grazing from the bed grounds, or when we threw them off the trail, they would ramble in punches: if a herder at tempted to hold them up they would either stop and stare at him or else turn and travel to the further side. Where we formerly watered in any creek or fair-sized pond, it now required river or lake.
 Most of us looked for trouble any night while the few doubters were si- fenced by the colored horse wrangler who expressed his views as follows:
 ''Uv cose dey is gwine ter run, fur ole Joe done sed it, and he's rep is at stake an dey is gwine ter run ef de old man haster git down ermong 'em some night wid de slicker."
 At supper that evening but little was sad; even the cooks yarns, told in his inimitable style, fell flat. Every few minutes our foreman would cast uneasy glances at the great black clouds that were slowly rising in the northwest. h. stead of picketing the horses, as was the custom, the animals were saddled and tied to the wagon, or to bushes close by.
 The first guard had scarcely more than. taken charge when the rest of the outfit prepared to roll in. The cook, after tying lantern to the tongue, climbed in the wagon, tied the sheet down and thanked the Lord he was cook. The wrangler found place under the coupling-pole | that suited his complexion, while the l riders unstrapped their little "hot roll" on the ground and piled in without re- moving even boots and spurs.
 For some reason was restless and un- able to sleep. All the slumber producing receipts were tried in vain. 1 lay on my back and watched the clouds obscure star after star until the whole heavens
 
 rounds the guards were making, then 1 fell to watching the lightning and trying to judge how far it was off by seeing | how many could count before heard | the thunder that followed every flash.
 After awhile, growing weary of this, | turned towards the fire; by it sat one of | the guards slipping strong coffee between whitfs at his cigarette. The rattle of the | chains on his spurs and bit as his horse | logged along told the whereabouts of | another, while the wild Spanish song that toated from the far side of the bed | ground indicated that Little Jack" in | thoughts at least, was with his black eyed sweetheart on the distant Rio Grande.
 l closed my eyes for a few minutes, and when looked again the guard had left the fire, Little Jacks song was 1n- ished and the only song from the bed ground was the deep breathing of some animal that had just laid down. The thunder had ceased for 6 few minutes and the hoot of an owl in the distant cottonwood made the darkness still darker and the night more dreary.
 As 1 dozed off Old Joe's words kept ringing in my head:. There ain't no danger es long es any of 'em air up an a-grazin', but when they air all down, an it's that quiet you kin hear your own heart beat then you wanter git ready ter ride"
 was still semi-conscious when 1 heard roar like mighty tornado, and sprang up as some one shouted.
 They are gone. fellowsl They are gonep'
 In less than minute every man was In the saddle and rushing after the flee ing herd. No need to ask which way: the trained night horses know their duty, and are straining every nerve. The lightning's play is grand electricity is everywhere; flames dance along the mane, a ball of fire gleams on each ear tip. By the flashes the riders locate the lay of the land in front.
 Soon we begin passing the drags. No need to look after them; they'll follow, and the real work is on head. Far away in front, above the roar of cattle and thunder, the guards can be heard sing ing and shouting to the maddened herd. As we dash on the sounds appear to be coming more and more from the left the leaders are being pressed around and soon by flash we see them com ing; right in front of the crazed sni- mals, looking like ghost, in his long white slicker, his fiery little night horse lunging and fighting for his head, rode Little Jack, singing, calling and swear ing by turns.
 By concerted action, in which good luck, stout lungs and heavy quirts all