They had hold of tails and were making the whole herd scamper due east, where they no doubt knew of a trail not in maps.
They made no attempt to defend themselves--left their dead lying--and ran.

I saw two or three wounded ones riding on cows, and no doubt some of those who ran holding to the cows' tails were wounded, too.
I was useless now, as far as fighting was concerned, for the butt of my rifle was broken clean off at the grip, but I ran on, and heard Brown shout: "Shoot cattle! Don't let the brutes get away with them all!" He was shooting cows himself when I came up, but it was Fred who stopped him.
"Never mind that, old man.

We'll follow 'em up! Our time's our own.
We'll get your cattle back, never fear.

Dead ones are no use." Brown stopped shooting and began to blubber.

Whisky had not left him manhood enough to see his whole available resources carried away before his eyes, and he broke down as utterly as any child.