But that's a good many miles yet.
An', Jane, this valley swings round almost north before it goes east.
That stampede will pass within a mile of us." The long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly through the sage, and a funnel-shaped dust-cloud arose at a low angle.

A dull rumbling filled Jane's ears.
"I'm thinkin' of millin' that herd," said Lassiter.

His gray glance swept up the slope to the west.

"There's some specks an' dust way off toward the village.

Mebbe that's Judkins an' his boys.