as due to reach the river the next morning. He wasted little time with
us, but recrossed the river, returning to his herd, while we grazed
out four or five miles and camped for the night.

I shall never forget the impression left in my mind of that first
morning after we crossed Red River into the Indian lands. The country
was as primitive as in the first day of its creation. The trail led up
a divide between the Salt and North forks of Red River. To the
eastward of the latter stream lay the reservation of the Apaches,
Kiowas, and Comanches, the latter having been a terror to the
inhabitants of western Texas. They were a warlike tribe, as the
records of the Texas Rangers and government troops will verify, but
their last effective dressing down was given them in a fight at Adobe
Walls by a party of buffalo hunters whom they hoped to surprise. As we
wormed our way up this narrow divide, there was revealed to us a
panorama of green-swarded plain and timber-fringed watercourse, with
not a visible evidence that it had ever been invaded by civilized man,
save cattlemen with their herds. Antelope came up in bands and
gratified their curiosity as to who these invaders might be, while old
solitary buffalo bulls turned tail at our approach and lumbered away
to points of safety. Very few herds had ever passed over this route,
but buffalo trails leading downstream, deep worn by generations of
travel, were to be seen by hundreds on every hand. We were not there
for a change of scenery or for our health, so we may have overlooked
some of the beauties of the landscape. But we had a keen eye for the
things of our craft. We could see almost back to the river, and
several times that morning noticed clouds of dust on the horizon.
Flood noticed them first. After some little time the dust clouds arose
clear and distinct, and we were satisfied that the "Running W" herd
had forded and were behind us, not more than ten or twelve miles away.