The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail Days

  CHAPTER X

  "NO MAN'S LAND"

  Flood overtook us the next morning, and as a number of us gatheredround him to hear the news, told us of a letter that Mann had got atDoan's, stating that the first herd to pass Camp Supply had beenharassed by Indians. The "Running W" people, Mann's employers, had arepresentative at Dodge, who was authority for the statement. Floodhad read the letter, which intimated that an appeal would be made tothe government to send troops from either Camp Supply or Fort Sill togive trail herds a safe escort in passing the western border of thisIndian reservation. The letter, therefore, admonished Mann, if hethought the Indians would give any trouble, to go up the south side ofRed River as far as the Pan-handle of Texas, and then turn north tothe government trail at Fort Elliot.

  "I told Mann," said our foreman, "that before I'd take one stepbackward, or go off on a wild goose chase through that Pan-handlecountry, I'd go back home and start over next year on the Chisholmtrail. It's the easiest thing in the world for some big auger to sitin a hotel somewhere and direct the management of a herd. I don't lookfor no soldiers to furnish an escort; it would take the government sixmonths to get a move on her, even in an emergency. I left Billy Mannin a quandary; he doesn't know what to do. That big auger at Dodge istroubling him, for if he don't act on his advice, and loses cattle asthe result--well, he'll never boss any more herds for King andKennedy. So, boys, if we're ever to see the Blackfoot Agency, there'sbut one course for us to take, and that's straight ahead. As oldOliver Loving, the first Texas cowman that ever drove a herd, used tosay, 'Never borrow trouble, or cross a river before you reach it.' Sowhen the cattle are through grazing, let them hit the trail north.It's entirely too late for us to veer away from any Indians."

  We were following the regular trail, which had been slightly used fora year or two, though none of our outfit had ever been over it, whenlate on the third afternoon, about forty miles out from Doan's, abouta hundred mounted bucks and squaws sighted our herd and crossed theNorth Fork from their encampment. They did not ride direct to theherd, but came into the trail nearly a mile above the cattle, so itwas some little time from our first sighting them before we met. Wedid not check the herd or turn out of the trail, but when the leadcame within a few hundred yards of the Indians, one buck, evidentlythe chief of the band, rode forward a few rods and held up one hand,as if commanding a halt. At the sight of this gaudily bedeckedapparition, the cattle turned out of the trail, and Flood and I rodeup to the chief, extending our hands in friendly greeting. The chiefcould not speak a word of English, but made signs with his hands; whenI turned loose on him in Spanish, however, he instantly turned hishorse and signed back to his band. Two young bucks rode forward andgreeted Flood and myself in good Spanish.

  On thus opening up an intelligible conversation, I called FoxQuarternight, who spoke Spanish, and he rode up from his position ofthird man in the swing and joined in the council. The two youngIndians through whom we carried on the conversation were Apaches, nodoubt renegades of that tribe, and while we understood each other inSpanish, they spoke in a heavy guttural peculiar to the Indian. Floodopened the powwow by demanding to know the meaning of this visit. Whenthe question had been properly interpreted to the chief, the latterdropped his blanket from his shoulders and dismounted from his horse.He was a fine specimen of the Plains Indian, fully six feet in height,perfectly proportioned, and in years well past middle life. He lookedevery inch a chief, and was a natural born orator. There was a certaineasy grace to his gestures, only to be seen in people who use the signlanguage, and often when he was speaking to the Apache interpreters, Icould anticipate his requests before they were translated to us,although I did not know a word of Comanche.

  Before the powwow had progressed far it was evident that begging wasits object. In his prelude, the chief laid claim to all the country insight as the hunting grounds of the Comanche tribe,--an intimationthat we were intruders. He spoke of the great slaughter of the buffaloby the white hide-hunters, and the consequent hunger and povertyamongst his people. He dwelt on the fact that he had ever counseledpeace with the whites, until now his band numbered but a few squawsand papooses, the younger men having deserted him for other chiefs ofthe tribe who advocated war on the palefaces. When he had fully statedhis position, he offered to allow us to pass through his country inconsideration of ten beeves. On receiving this proposition, all of usdismounted, including the two Apaches, the latter seating themselvesin their own fashion, while we whites lounged on the ground in trulyAmerican laziness, rolling cigarettes. In dealing with people who knownot the value of time, the civilized man is taken at a disadvantage,and unless he can show an equal composure in wasting time, resultswill be against him. Flood had had years of experience in dealing withMexicans in the land of _manana_, where all maxims regarding the valueof time are religiously discarded. So in dealing with this Indianchief he showed no desire to hasten matters, and carefully avoided allreference to the demand for beeves.

  MEETING WITH INDIANS]

  His first question, instead, was to know the distance to Fort Sill andFort Elliot. The next was how many days it would take for cavalry toreach him. He then had us narrate the fact that when the first herd ofcattle passed through the country less than a month before, some badIndians had shown a very unfriendly spirit. They had taken many of thecattle and had killed and eaten them, and now the great white man'schief at Washington was very much displeased. If another single oxwere taken and killed by bad Indians, he would send his soldiers fromthe forts to protect the cattle, even though their owners drove theherds through the reservation of the Indians--over the grass wheretheir ponies grazed. He had us inform the chief that our entire herdwas intended by the great white man's chief at Washington as a presentto the Blackfeet Indians who lived in Montana, because they were goodIndians, and welcomed priests and teachers amongst them to teach themthe ways of the white man. At our foreman's request we then informedthe chief that he was under no obligation to give him even a singlebeef for any privilege of passing through his country, but as thesquaws and little papooses were hungry, he would give him two beeves.

  The old chief seemed not the least disconcerted, but begged for fivebeeves, as many of the squaws were in the encampment across the NorthFork, those present being not quite half of his village. It was nowgetting late in the day and the band seemed to be getting tired of theparleying, a number of squaws having already set out on their returnto the village. After some further talk, Flood agreed to add anotherbeef, on condition they be taken to the encampment before beingkilled. This was accepted, and at once the entire band set up achattering in view of the coming feast. The cattle had in the meantime grazed off nearly a mile, the outfit, however, holding them undera close herd during the powwowing. All the bucks in the band,numbering about forty, now joined us, and we rode away to the herd. Inoticed, by the way, that quite a number of the younger braves hadarms, and no doubt they would have made a display of force had Flood'sdiplomacy been of a more warlike character. While drifting the herdback to the trail we cut out a big lame steer and two stray cows forthe Indians, who now left us and followed the beeves which were beingdriven to their village.

  Flood had instructed Quarternight and me to invite the two Apaches toour camp for the night, on the promise of sugar, coffee, and tobacco.They consulted with the old chief, and gaining his consent came withus. We extended the hospitality of our wagon to our guests, and whensupper was over, promised them an extra beef if they would give usparticulars of the trail until it crossed the North Fork, after thatriver turned west towards the Pan-handle. It was evident that theywere familiar with the country, for one of them accepted our offer,and with his finger sketched a rude map on the ground where there hadformerly been a camp-fire. He outlined the two rivers between which wewere then encamped, and traced the trail until it crossed the NorthFork or beyond the Indian reservation. We discussed the outline of thetrail in detail for an hour, asking hundreds of unimportant questions,but occasionally getting in a leading on
e, always resulting in theinformation wanted. We learned that the big summer encampment of theComanches and Kiowas was one day's ride for a pony or two days' withcattle up the trail, at the point where the divide between Salt andNorth Fork narrows to about ten miles in width. We leeched out of themvery cautiously the information that the encampment was a large one,and that all herds this year had given up cattle, some as many astwenty-five head.

  Having secured the information we wanted, Flood gave to each Apache apackage of Arbuckle coffee, a small sack of sugar, and both smokingand chewing tobacco. Quarternight informed them that as the cattlewere bedded for the night, they had better remain until morning, whenhe would pick them out a nice fat beef. On their consenting, Foxstripped the wagon sheet off the wagon and made them a good bed, inwhich, with their body blankets, they were as comfortable as any ofus. Neither of them was armed, so we felt no fear of them, and afterthey had lain down on their couch, Flood called Quarternight and me,and we strolled out into the darkness and reviewed the information. Weagreed that the topography of the country they had given was mostlikely correct, because we could verify much of it by maps in ourpossession. Another thing on which we agreed was, that there was somemeans of communication between this small and seemingly peaceable bandand the main encampment of the tribe; and that more than likely ourapproach would be known in the large encampment before sunrise. Inspite of the good opinion we entertained of our guests, we were alsosatisfied they had lied to us when they denied they had been in thelarge camp since the trail herds began to pass. This was the lastquestion we had asked, and the artful manner in which they had parriedit showed our guests to be no mean diplomats themselves.

  Our camp was astir by daybreak, and after breakfast, as we werecatching our mounts for the day, one of the Apaches offered to take acertain pinto horse in our _remuda_ in lieu of the promised beef, butFlood declined the offer. On overtaking the herd after breakfast,Quarternight cut out a fat two year old stray heifer, and he and Iassisted our guests to drive their beef several miles toward theirvillage. Finally bidding them farewell, we returned to the herd, whenthe outfit informed us that Flood and The Rebel had ridden on ahead tolook out a crossing on the Salt Fork. From this move it was evidentthat if a passable ford could be found, our foreman intended toabandon the established route and avoid the big Indian encampment.

  On the return of Priest and Flood about noon, they reported havingfound an easy ford of the Salt Fork, which, from the indications oftheir old trails centring from every quarter at this crossing, musthave been used by buffalo for generations. After dinner we put ourwagon in the lead, and following close at hand with the cattle, turnedoff the trail about a mile above our noon camp and struck to thewestward for the crossing. This we reached and crossed early thatevening, camping out nearly five miles to the west of the river. Rainwas always to be dreaded in trail work, and when bedding down the herdthat night, we had one of the heaviest downpours which we hadexperienced since leaving the Rio Grande. It lasted several hours, butwe stood it uncomplainingly, for this fortunate drenching hadobliterated every trace left by our wagon and herd since abandoningthe trail, as well as the sign left at the old buffalo crossing on theSalt Fork. The rain ceased about ten o'clock, when the cattle beddeddown easily, and the second guard took them for their watch. Wood wastoo scarce to afford a fire, and while our slickers had partiallyprotected us from the rain, many of us went to bed in wet clothingthat night. After another half day's drive to the west, we turnednorthward and traveled in that direction through a nice country, moreor less broken with small hills, but well watered. On the morning ofthe first day after turning north, Honeyman reported a number of oursaddle horses had strayed from camp. This gave Flood some littleuneasiness, and a number of us got on our night horses without loss oftime and turned out to look up the missing saddle stock. The Rebel andI set out together to the southward, while others of the outfit setoff to the other points of the compass.

  I was always a good trailer, was in fact acknowledged to be one of thebest, with the exception of my brother Zack, on the San Antonio River,where we grew up as boys. In circling about that morning, I struck thetrail of about twenty horses--the missing number--and at once signaledto Priest, who was about a mile distant, to join me. The ground wasfortunately fresh from the recent rain and left an easy trail. Wegalloped along it easily for some little distance, when the trailsuddenly turned and we could see that the horses had been running,having evidently received a sudden scare. On following up the trailnearly a mile, we noticed where they had quieted down and hadevidently grazed for several hours, but in looking up the trail bywhich they had left these parts, Priest made the discovery of signs ofcattle. We located the trail of the horses soon, and were againsurprised to find that they had been running as before, though thetrail was much fresher, having possibly been made about dawn. We ranthe trail out until it passed over a slight divide, when there beforeus stood the missing horses. They never noticed us, but were standingat attention, cautiously sniffing the early morning air, on which wasborne to them the scent of something they feared. On reaching them,their fear seemed not the least appeased, and my partner and I had ourcuriosity sufficiently aroused to ride forward to the cause of theiralarm. As we rounded the spur of the hill, there in plain view grazeda band of about twenty buffalo. We were almost as excited as thehorses over the discovery. By dropping back and keeping the hillbetween us and them, then dismounting and leaving our horses, wethought we could reach the apex of the hill. It was but a smallelevation, and from its summit we secured a splendid view of theanimals, now less than three hundred yards distant. Flatteningourselves out, we spent several minutes watching the shaggy animals asthey grazed leisurely forward, while several calves in the bunchgamboled around their mothers. A buffalo calf, I had always heard,made delicious veal, and as we had had no fresh meat since we hadstarted, I proposed to Priest that we get one. He suggested trying ourropes, for if we could ever get within effective six-shooter range, arope was much the surest. Certainly such cumbrous, awkward lookinganimals, he said, could be no match for our Texas horses. Weaccordingly dropped back off the hill to our saddle stock, when Priestsaid that if he only had a certain horse of his out of the band we hadbeen trailing he would promise me buffalo veal if he had to followthem to the Pan-handle. It took us but a few minutes to return to ourhorses, round them in, and secure the particular horse he wanted. Iwas riding my Nigger Boy, my regular night horse, and as only one ofmy mount was in this bunch,--a good horse, but sluggish,--I concludedto give my black a trial, not depending on his speed so much as hisstaying qualities. It took but a minute for The Rebel to shift hissaddle from one horse to another, when he started around to the south,while I turned to the north, so as to approach the buffalosimultaneously. I came in sight of the band first, my partner having afarther ride to make, but had only a few moments to wait, before Inoticed the quarry take alarm, and the next instant Priest dashed outfrom behind a spur of the hill and was after them, I following suit.They turned westward, and when The Rebel and I came together on theangle of their course, we were several hundred yards in their rear. Mybunkie had the best horse in speed by all odds, and was soon crowdingthe band so close that they began to scatter, and though I passedseveral old bulls and cows, it was all I could do to keep in sight ofthe calves. After the chase had continued over a mile, the stayingqualities of my horse began to shine, but while I was nearing thelead, The Rebel tied to the largest calf in the bunch. The calf he hadon his rope was a beauty, and on overtaking him, I reined in my horse,for to have killed a second one would have been sheer waste. Priestwanted me to shoot the calf, but I refused, so he shifted the rope tothe pommel of my saddle, and, dismounting, dropped the calf at thefirst shot. We skinned him, cut off his head, and after disembowelinghim, lashed the carcass across my saddle. Then both of us mountedPriest's horse, and started on our return.

  On reaching the horse stock, we succeeded in catching a sleepy oldhorse belonging to Rod Wheat's mount, and I rode him bridleless andbar
eback to camp. We received an ovation on our arrival, the recoveryof the saddle horses being a secondary matter compared to the buffaloveal. "So it was buffalo that scared our horses, was it, and ran themout of camp?" said McCann, as he helped to unlash the calf. "Well,it's an ill wind that blows nobody good." There was no particular lossof time, for the herd had grazed away on our course several miles, andafter changing our mounts we overtook the herd with the news that notonly the horses had been found, but that there was fresh meat incamp--and buffalo veal at that! The other men out horse hunting,seeing the cattle strung out in traveling shape, soon returned totheir places beside the trailing herd.

  We held a due northward course, which we figured ought to carry uspast and at least thirty miles to the westward of the big Indianencampment. The worst thing with which we had now to contend was theweather, it having rained more or less during the past day and night,or ever since we had crossed the Salt Fork. The weather had thrown theoutfit into such a gloomy mood that they would scarcely speak to oranswer each other. This gloomy feeling had been growing on us forseveral days, and it was even believed secretly that our foremandidn't know where he was; that the outfit was drifting and as good aslost. About noon of the third day, the weather continuing wet withcold nights, and with no abatement of the general gloom, our men onpoint noticed smoke arising directly ahead on our course, in a littlevalley through which ran a nice stream of water. When Flood'sattention was directed to the smoke, he rode forward to ascertain thecause, and returned worse baffled than I ever saw him.

  It was an Indian camp, and had evidently been abandoned only thatmorning, for the fires were still smouldering. Ordering the wagon tocamp on the creek and the cattle to graze forward till noon, Floodreturned to the Indian camp, taking two of the boys and myself withhim. It had not been a permanent camp, yet showed evidence of havingbeen occupied several days at least, and had contained nearly ahundred lean-tos, wickyups, and tepees--altogether too large anencampment to suit our tastes. The foreman had us hunt up the trailleaving, and once we had found it, all four of us ran it out five orsix miles, when, from the freshness of it, fearing that we might beseen, we turned back. The Indians had many ponies and possibly somecattle, though the sign of the latter was hard to distinguish frombuffalo. Before quitting their trail, we concluded they were from oneof the reservations, and were heading for their old stamping ground,the Pan-handle country,--peaceable probably; but whether peaceable ornot, we had no desire to meet with them. We lost little time, then, inreturning to the herd and making late and early drives until we wereout of that section.

  But one cannot foresee impending trouble on the cattle trail, any morethan elsewhere, and although we encamped that night a long distance tothe north of the abandoned Indian camp, the next morning we came nearhaving a stampede. It happened just at dawn. Flood had called the cookan hour before daybreak, and he had started out with Honeyman to drivein the _remuda_, which had scattered badly the morning before. Theyhad the horses rounded up and were driving them towards camp when,about half a mile from the wagon, four old buffalo bulls ranquartering past the horses. This was tinder among stubble, and intheir panic the horses outstripped the wranglers and came thunderingfor camp. Luckily we had been called to breakfast, and those of us whocould see what was up ran and secured our night horses. Before half ofthe horses were thus secured, however, one hundred and thirty loosesaddle stock dashed through camp, and every horse on picket went withthem, saddles and all, and dragging the picket ropes. Then the cattlejumped from the bed ground and were off like a shot, the fourth guard,who had them in charge, with them. Just for the time being it was anopen question which way to ride, our saddle horses going in onedirection and the herd in another. Priest was an early riser and hadhustled me out early, so fortunately we reached our horses, thoughover half the outfit in camp could only look on and curse their luckat being left afoot. The Rebel was first in the saddle, and turnedafter the horses, but I rode for the herd. The cattle were not badlyscared, and as the morning grew clearer, five of us quieted them downbefore they had run more than a short mile.

  The horses, however, gave us a long, hard run, and since a horse has asplendid memory, the effects of this scare were noticeable for nearlya month after. Honeyman at once urged our foreman to hobble at night,but Flood knew the importance of keeping the _remuda_ strong, andrefused. But his decision was forced, for just as it was growing duskthat evening, we heard the horses running, and all hands had to turnout, to surround them and bring them into camp. We hobbled every horseand side-lined certain leaders, and for fully a week following, onescare or another seemed to hold our saddle stock in constant terror.During this week we turned out our night horses, and taking the worstof the leaders in their stead, tied them solidly to the wagon wheelsall night, not being willing to trust to picket ropes. They would evenrun from a mounted man during the twilight of evening or early dawn,or from any object not distinguishable in uncertain light; but thewrangler now never went near them until after sunrise, and theirnervousness gradually subsided. Trouble never comes singly, however,and when we struck the Salt Fork, we found it raging, and impassablenearly from bank to bank. But get across we must. The swimming of itwas nothing, but it was necessary to get our wagon over, and therecame the rub. We swam the cattle in twenty minutes' time, but it tookus a full half day to get the wagon over. The river was at least ahundred yards wide, three quarters of which was swimming to a horse.But we hunted up and down the river until we found an eddy, where thebanks had a gradual approach to deep water, and started to raft thewagon over--a thing none of the outfit had ever seen done, though wehad often heard of it around camp-fires in Texas. The first thing wasto get the necessary timber to make the raft. We scouted along theSalt Fork for a mile either way before we found sufficient dry, deadcottonwood to form our raft. Then we set about cutting it, but we hadonly one axe, and were the poorest set of axemen that were ever calledupon to perform a similar task; when we cut a tree it looked as thougha beaver had gnawed it down. On horseback the Texan shines at the headof his class, but in any occupation which must be performed on foot heis never a competitor. There was scarcely a man in our outfit whocould not swing a rope and tie down a steer in a given space of time,but when it came to swinging an axe to cut logs for the raft, ourlustre faded. "Cutting these logs," said Joe Stallings, as he moppedthe sweat from his brow, "reminds me of what the Tennessee girl whomarried a Texan wrote home to her sister. 'Texas,' so she wrote, 'is agood place for men and dogs, but it's hell on women and oxen.'"

  Dragging the logs up to the place selected for the ford was an easymatter. They were light, and we did it with ropes from the pommels ofour saddles, two to four horses being sufficient to handle any of thetrees. When everything was ready, we ran the wagon out into two-footwater and built the raft under it. We had cut the dry logs fromeighteen to twenty feet long, and now ran a tier of these under thewagon between the wheels. These we lashed securely to the axle, andeven lashed one large log on the underside of the hub on the outsideof the wheel. Then we cross-timbered under these, lashing everythingsecurely to this outside guard log. Before we had finished thecross-timbering, it was necessary to take an anchor rope ashore forfear our wagon would float away. By the time we had succeeded ingetting twenty-five dry cottonwood logs under our wagon, it wasafloat. Half a dozen of us then swam the river on our horses, takingacross the heaviest rope we had for a tow line. We threw the wagontongue back and lashed it, and making fast to the wagon with one endof the tow rope, fastened our lariats to the other. With the remainderof our unused rope, we took a guy line from the wagon and snubbed itto a tree on the south bank. Everything being in readiness, the wordwas given, and as those on the south bank eased away, those onhorseback on the other side gave the rowel to their horses, and ourcommissary floated across. The wagon floated so easily that McCann wasordered on to the raft to trim the weight when it struck the current.The current carried it slightly downstream, and when it lodged on theother side, those on the south bank fastened lariat
s to the guy rope;and with them pulling from that side and us from ours, it was soonbrought opposite the landing and hauled into shallow water. Once theraft timber was unlashed and removed, the tongue was lowered, and fromthe pommels of six saddles the wagon was set high and dry on the northbank. There now only remained to bring up the cattle and swim them,which was an easy task and soon accomplished.

  After putting the Salt Fork behind us, our spirits were againdampened, for it rained all the latter part of the night and untilnoon the next day. It was with considerable difficulty that McCanncould keep his fire from drowning out while he was getting breakfast,and several of the outfit refused to eat at all. Flood knew it wasuseless to rally the boys, for a wet, hungry man is not to be jolliedor reasoned with. Five days had now elapsed since we turned off theestablished trail, and half the time rain had been falling. Besides,our doubt as to where we were had been growing, so before we startedthat morning, Bull Durham very good-naturedly asked Flood if he hadany idea where he was.

  "No, I haven't. No more than you have," replied our foreman. "But thismuch I do know, or will just as soon as the sun comes out: I knownorth from south. We have been traveling north by a little west, andif we hold that course we're bound to strike the North Fork, andwithin a day or two afterwards we will come into the government trail,running from Fort Elliot to Camp Supply, which will lead us into ourown trail. Or if we were certain that we had cleared the Indianreservation, we could bear to our right, and in time we would reenterthe trail that way. I can't help the weather, boys, and as long as Ihave chuck, I'd as lief be lost as found."

  If there was any recovery in the feelings of the outfit after thistalk of Flood's, it was not noticeable, and it is safe to say that twothirds of the boys believed we were in the Pan-handle of Texas. Oneman's opinion is as good as another's in a strange country, and whilethere wasn't a man in the outfit who cared to suggest it, I know themajority of us would have indorsed turning northeast. But the fatessmiled on us at last. About the middle of the forenoon, on thefollowing day, we cut an Indian trail, about three days old, ofprobably fifty horses. A number of us followed the trail several mileson its westward course, and among other things discovered that theyhad been driving a small bunch of cattle, evidently making for thesand hills which we could see about twenty miles to our left. How theyhad come by the cattle was a mystery,--perhaps by forced levy, perhapsfrom a stampede. One thing was certain: the trail must havecontributed them, for there were none but trail cattle in the country.This was reassuring and gave some hint of guidance. We were alltickled, therefore, after nooning that day and on starting the herd inthe afternoon, to hear our foreman give orders to point the herd alittle east of north. The next few days we made long drives, oursaddle horses recovered from their scare, and the outfit fast regainedits spirits.

  On the morning of the tenth day after leaving the trail, we loiteredup a long slope to a divide in our lead from which we sighted timberto the north. This we supposed from its size must be the North Fork.Our route lay up this divide some distance, and before we left it,some one in the rear sighted a dust cloud to the right and far behindus. As dust would hardly rise on a still morning without a cause, weturned the herd off the divide and pushed on, for we suspectedIndians. Flood and Priest hung back on the divide, watching the dustsignals, and after the herd had left them several miles in the rear,they turned and rode towards it,--a move which the outfit could hardlymake out. It was nearly noon when we saw them returning in a longlope, and when they came in sight of the herd, Priest waved his hat inthe air and gave the long yell. When he explained that there was aherd of cattle on the trail in the rear and to our right, the yellwent around the herd, and was reechoed by our wrangler and cook in therear. The spirits of the outfit instantly rose. We halted the herd andcamped for noon, and McCann set out his best in celebrating theoccasion. It was the most enjoyable meal we had had in the past tendays. After a good noonday rest, we set out, and having entered thetrail during the afternoon, crossed the North Fork late that evening.As we were going into camp, we noticed a horseman coming up the trail,who turned out to be smiling Nat Straw, whom we had left on theColorado River. "Well, girls," said Nat, dismounting, "I didn't knowwho you were, but I just thought I'd ride ahead and overtake whoeverit was and stay all night. Indians? Yes; I wouldn't drive on a trailthat hadn't any excitement on it. I gave the last big encampment tenstrays, and won them all back and four ponies besides on a horse race.Oh, yes, got some running stock with us. How soon will supper beready, cusi? Get up something extra, for you've got company."