XL.

I couldn't rein off--seem'd swept along In the rush an' roar an' thunderin' crash; The lightnin' struck at the runnin' herd With a crack like the stroke of a cowboy's lash. Thar! I could see it; I tell ye, pard, Things seem'd whittl'd down sort of fine-- We wasn't five hundred feet from the gulch, With its mean little fringe of scrubby pine.