signals. The banks of the river at the ford were trampled to the
level of the water, while at both approach and exit the ground
was cut into dust. On our arrival, the stage of water was
favorable, and we crossed without a halt of herd, horses, or
commissary. But there was little inducement to follow the old
trail. Washed into ruts by the seasons, the grass on either side
eaten away for miles, there was a look of desolation like that to
be seen in the wake of an army. As we felt under obligations to
touch at Abilene within a few days, there was a constant skirmish
for grass within a reasonable distance of the trail; and we were
early, fully two thirds of the drive being in our rear. One
sultry morning south of Buffalo Gap, as we were grazing past the
foot of Table Mountain, several of us rode to the summit of that
butte. From a single point of observation we counted twelve herds
within a space of thirty miles both south and north, all moving
in the latter direction.

When about midway between the Gap and the railroad we were met at
noon one day by Don Lovell. This was his first glimpse of my
herd, and his experienced eye took in everything from a broken
harness to the peeling and legibility of the road brand. With me
the condition of the cattle was the first requisite, but the
minor details as well as the more important claimed my employer's
attention. When at last, after riding with the herd for an hour,
he spoke a few words of approbation on the condition, weight, and
uniformity of the beeves, I felt a load lifted from my shoulders.
That the old man was in a bad humor on meeting us was evident;
but as he rode along beside the cattle, lazy and large as oxen,
the cockles of his heart warmed and he grew sociable. Near the
middle of the afternoon, as we were in the rear, looking over the