A newcomer, of course, had any amount to learn, and sometimes the simplest things were those which brought him to grief.
One night early in my career I failed satisfactorily to identify the direction in which I was to go in order to reach the night herd.

It was a pitch-dark night.

I managed to get started wrong, and I never found either the herd or the wagon again until sunrise, when I was greeted with withering scorn by the injured cow-puncher, who had been obliged to stand double guard because I failed to relieve him.
There were other misadventures that I met with where the excuse was greater.

The punchers on night guard usually rode round the cattle in reverse directions; calling and singing to them if the beasts seemed restless, to keep them quiet.

On rare occasions something happened that made the cattle stampede, and then the duty of the riders was to keep with them as long as possible and try gradually to get control of them.
One night there was a heavy storm, and all of us who were at the wagons were obliged to turn out hastily to help the night herders.