I don't lose him, I'll never come back to this herd. It won't hurt him
any to sleep out one night with the dry cattle.'

"Sure enough, the day before we crossed that road, somewhere near
the Colorado state line, Pink and Bad Medicine left camp early in
the morning for a curlew hunt in the sand hills. Fortunately it was
a foggy morning, and within half an hour the two were out of sight
of camp and herd. As Pink had outlined the plans, everything was
understood. We were encamped on a nice stream, and instead of trailing
along with the herd, lay over for that day. Night came and our hunters
failed to return, and the next morning we trailed forward towards the
Arkansas River. Just as we went into camp at noon, two horsemen loomed
up in sight coming down the trail from above. Every rascal of us knew
who they were, and when the two rode up, Pink grew very angry and
demanded to know why we had failed to reach the river the day before.

"The horse wrangler, a fellow named Joe George, had been properly
coached, and stepping forward, volunteered this excuse: 'You all
didn't know it when you left camp yesterday morning that we were out
the wagon team and nearly half the saddle horses. Well, we were. And
what's more, less than a mile below on the creek was an abandoned
Indian camp. I wasn't going to be left behind with the cook to look
for the missing stock, and told the _segundo_ so. We divided into
squads of three or four men each and went out and looked up the
horses, but it was after six o'clock before we trailed them down and
got the missing animals. If anybody thinks I'm going to stay behind
to look for missing stock in a country full of lurking Indians--well,
they simply don't know me.'

"The scheme worked all right. On reaching the railroad the next