A rider appeared madly from the west. "Get your guns, boys!" he
yelled. "It is a raid! Greasers! I seen 'em start the cattle
stampeding!"

"You are bringing us stale news, boy," shouted the outfit's cook.
"We're going after them Greasers."

He and Tom Collins were already astride their ponies. Rhoda had got
into her boots and now she ran and noosed her pony out of the herd,
making the cast by the light of the electric flashes. She saddled,
mounted, and was away after the two cooks. Walter joined her,
followed quickly by Nan. Bess had to stay behind with Grace, who
would never have ventured on such an expedition.

They charged down the swale toward the west. Walter shouted to the
others what he had seen at the start of the stampede.

"That is it," cried Rhoda. "Mexicans! When daddy hears about this
he will be just about wild."

When the little party had swept to the far end of the hollow there
were no signs of the Mexicans who had ridden down into the place to
stampede the steers. The rain began to fall; but there was not much
of that. It was mostly a tempest of thunder and lightning.

The circling cattle swung west finally and came down the valley at
a less dangerous pace. The two cooks, with Rhoda, Nan and Walter,
remained to meet and turn their front again. By the time the cattle
had circled the valley twice, they were leg-weary and their fears
were quenched.