CHAPTER V. RED RIVER STATION

When the spirit of a man is once broken, he becomes useless. On
the trail it is necessary to have some diversion from hard work,
long hours, and exposure to the elements. With man and beast,
from the Brazos to Red River was a fire test of physical
endurance. But after crossing into the Chickasaw Nation, a
comparatively new country would open before us. When the strain
of the past week was sorest, in buoying up the spirits of my
outfit, I had promised them rest and recreation at the first
possible opportunity.

Fortunately we had an easy ford. There was not even an indication
that there had been a freshet on the river that spring. This was
tempering the wind, for we were crippled, three of the boys being
unable to resume their places around the herd on account of
inflamed eyes. The cook had weathered the sand-storm better than
any of us. Sheltering his team, and fastening his wagon-sheet
securely, he took refuge under it until the gale had passed.
Pressing him into the service the next morning, and assigning him
to the drag end of the herd, I left the blind to lead the blind
in driving the wagon. On reaching the river about the middle of
the forenoon, we trailed the cattle across in a long chain, not
an animal being compelled to swim. The wagon was carried over on
a ferryboat, as it was heavily loaded, a six weeks' supply of
provisions having been taken on before crossing. Once the trail
left the breaks, on the north side of the river, we drew off
several miles to the left and went into camp for the remainder of