large camp since the trail herds began to pass. This was the last
question we had asked, and the artful manner in which they had parried
it showed our guests to be no mean diplomats themselves.

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

On the return of Priest and Flood about noon, they reported having
found an easy ford of the Salt Fork, which, from the indications of
their old trails centring from every quarter at this crossing, must
have been used by buffalo for generations. After dinner we put our
wagon in the lead, and following close at hand with the cattle, turned
off the trail about a mile above our noon camp and struck to the
westward for the crossing. This we reached and crossed early that
evening, camping out nearly five miles to the west of the river. Rain
was always to be dreaded in trail work, and when bedding down the herd
that night, we had one of the heaviest downpours which we had
experienced since leaving the Rio Grande. It lasted several hours, but
we stood it uncomplainingly, for this fortunate drenching had
obliterated every trace left by our wagon and herd since abandoning
the trail, as well as the sign left at the old buffalo crossing on the