We were in the very centre of a prairie-dog town, but before I could formulate in my mind the probabilities of holes and broken legs, the chirk, chirk, chirking had fallen astern.

Brown Jug had skipped and dodged successfully.
We were approaching the cattle.

They ran stubbornly and well, evidently unwilling to be turned until the latest possible moment.

A great rage at their obstinacy took possession of us both.

A broad shallow wash crossed our way, but we plunged through its rocks and boulders recklessly, angered at even the slight delay they necessitated.