Canadian, which proved to be the most delusive stream we had yet
encountered. It also showed, like the Washita, every evidence of
having been on a recent rampage. On our arrival there was no volume of
water to interfere, but it had a quicksand bottom that would bog a
saddle blanket. Our foreman had been on ahead and examined the regular
crossing, and when he returned, freely expressed his opinion that we
would be unable to trail the herd across, but might hope to effect it
by cutting it into small bunches. When we came, therefore, within
three miles of the river, we turned off the trail to a near-by creek
and thoroughly watered the herd. This was contrary to our practice,
for we usually wanted the herd thirsty when reaching a large river.
But any cow brute that halted in fording the Canadian that day was
doomed to sink into quicksands from which escape was doubtful.

We held the wagon and saddle horses in the rear, and when we were half
a mile away from the trail ford, cut off about two hundred head of the
leaders and started for the crossing, leaving only the horse wrangler
and one man with the herd. On reaching the river we gave them an extra
push, and the cattle plunged into the muddy water. Before the cattle
had advanced fifty feet, instinct earned them of the treacherous
footing, and the leaders tried to turn back; but by that time we had
the entire bunch in the water and were urging them forward. They had
halted but a moment and begun milling, when several heavy steers sank;
then we gave way and allowed the rest to come back. We did not realize
fully the treachery of this river until we saw that twenty cattle were
caught in the merciless grasp of the quicksand. They sank slowly to
the level of their bodies, which gave sufficient resistance to support
their weight, but they were hopelessly bogged. We allowed the free
cattle to return to the herd, and immediately turned our attention to
those that were bogged, some of whom were nearly submerged by water.