BILL CROSS AND HIS BEAR. 93

in the ground as the sun was going down.

Suddenly we heard a yell; then a yelling,
then a bellowing. The yelling was heard
in the high grass in the Camas Valley be-
low, and the bellowing of cattle came from
the woody river banks far beyond.

Then up on the brown hills of the Ore-
gon Sierras above us came the wild answer
of the wild black cattle of the hills, and
a moment later, right and left, the long
black lines began to widen out; then down
they came, like a whirlwind, toward the
black and surging line in the grass below.
We were now almost in the center of what
would, in a little time, be a complete circle
and cyclone of furious Spanish cattle.

And now, here is something curious to
relate. Our own cows, poor, weary, immi-
grant cows of only a year before, tossed
their tails in the air, pawed the ground,
bellowed and fairly went wild in the splen-
' did excitement and tumult. One touch of
nature made the whole cow world kin!

Tather clambered up on a “buck-horse”
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