caught glimpses of Forrest's cattle as they snailed forward,
fully five miles distant and barely noticeable under the low
sky-line. The Indian herds had given us a good start in the
morning, and towards evening as the mirages lifted, not a
dust-signal was in sight, save one far in our lead.

The month of June, so far, had been exceedingly droughty. The
scarcity of water on the plains between Dodge and Ogalalla was
the dread of every trail drover. The grass, on the other hand,
had matured from the first rank growth of early spring into a
forage, rich in sustenance, from which our beeves took on flesh
and rounded into beauties. Lack of water being the one drawback,
long drives, not in miles but hours, became the order of the day;
from four in the morning to eight at night, even at an ox's pace,
leaves every landmark of the day far in the rear at nightfall.
Thus for the next few days we moved forward, the monotony of
existence broken only by the great variety of mirage, the glare
of heat-waves, and the silent signal in the sky of other
voyageurs like ourselves. On reaching Pig Boggy, nothing but
pools greeted us, while the regular crossing was dry and dusty
and paved with cattle bones. My curiosity was strong enough to
cause me to revisit the old bridge which I had helped to build
two seasons before; though unused, it was still intact, a credit
to the crude engineering of Pete Slaughter. After leaving the
valley of the Solomon, the next running water was Pawnee Fork,
where we overtook and passed six thousand yearling heifers in two
herds, sold the winter before by John Blocker for delivery in
Montana. The Northwest had not yet learned that Texas was the
natural breeding-ground for cattle, yet under favorable
conditions in both sections, the ranchman of the South could