refreshing sight as they grazed forward, their ragged front
covering half a mile in width. The rest of the past few days had
been a boon to the few tender-footed ones. The lay-over had
rejuvenated both man and beast. From maps in our possession we
knew we were somewhere near the western border of the Chickasaw
Nation, while on our left was the reservation of three blanket
tribes of Indians. But as far as signs of occupancy were
concerned, the country was unmarked by any evidence of
civilization. The Chisholm Cattle Trail, which ran from Red River
to the Kansas line, had almost fallen into disuse, owing to
encroachments of settlements south of the former and westward on
the latter. With the advancement of immigration, Abilene and
Ellsworth as trail terminals yielded to the tide, and the leading
cattle trace of the '70's was relegated to local use in '84.

The first guard was on the qui vive for the outfit whose
camp-fire they had sighted the night before. I was riding with
Clay Zilligan on the left point, when he sighted what we supposed
was a small bunch of cattle lying down several miles distant.
When we reached the first rise of ground, a band of saddle horses
came in view, and while we were trying to locate their camp, Jack
Splann from the opposite point attracted our attention and
pointed straight ahead. There a large band of cattle under herd
greeted our view, compelling us to veer to the right and
intersect the trail sooner than we intended. Keeping a clear
half-mile between us, we passed them within an hour and exchanged
the compliments of the trail. They proved to be "Laurel Leaf" and
"Running W" cattle, the very ones for which the International
Railway agent at the meeting in February had so boastfully shown
my employer the application for cars. The foreman was cursing