commencing well out in the water and running back about two hundred
yards, thus giving us a half chute in forcing the cattle to take
swimming water. This ford had been in use for years in crossing
cattle, but I believe this was the first herd ever crossed that was
intended for the trail, or for beyond the bounds of Texas.

When the herd was within a mile of the river, Fox and I shed our
saddles, boots, and surplus clothing and started to meet it. The water
was chilly, but we struck it with a shout, and with the cheers of our
outfit behind us, swam like smugglers. A swimming horse needs freedom,
and we scarcely touched the reins, but with one hand buried in a mane
hold, and giving gentle slaps on the neck with the other, we guided
our horses for the other shore. I was proving out my black, Fox had a
gray of equal barrel displacement,--both good swimmers; and on
reaching the Mexican shore, we dismounted and allowed them to roll in
the warm sand.

Flood had given us general instructions, and we halted the herd about
half a mile from the river. The Mexican corporal was only too glad to
have us assume charge, and assured us that he and his outfit were ours
to command. I at once proclaimed Fox Quarternight, whose years and
experience outranked mine, the _gringo_ corporal for the day, at which
the vaqueros smiled, but I noticed they never used the word. On Fox's
suggestion the Mexican corporal brought up his wagon and corralled his
horses as we had done, when his cook, to our delight, invited all to
have coffee before starting. That cook won our everlasting regards,
for his coffee was delicious. We praised it highly, whereupon the
corporal ordered the cook to have it at hand for the men in the
intervals between crossing the different bunches of cattle. A March
day on the Rio Grande with wet clothing is not summer, and the