two miles--in that old grass? That's where we bedded night before
last and forty odd died. We only lost twenty-two last night. Oh,
we're getting in shape fast. If you think you can hold your
breakfast down, just take a ride through mine. No, excuse me--
I've seen them too often already."

Several of the boys and myself rode into the herd some little
distance, but the sight was enough to turn a copper-lined
stomach. Scarcely an animal had escaped without more or less
injury. Fully one half were minus one or both horns, leaving
instead bloody stumps. Broken bones and open sores greeted us on
every hand; myriads of flies added to the misery of the cattle,
while in many instances there was evidence of maggots at work on
the living animal. Turning from the herd in disgust, we went back
to our own, thankful that the rate offered us had been
prohibitory. The trials and vexations of the road were mere
nothings to be endured, compared to the sights we were then
leaving. Even what we first supposed were cattle lying down, were
only bed-grounds, the occupants having been humanely relieved by
unwaking sleep. Powerless to render any assistance, we trailed
away, glad to blot from our sight and memory such scenes of
misery and death.

Until reaching the Washita River, we passed through a delightful
country. There were numerous local trails coming into the main
one, all of which showed recent use. Abandoned camp-fires and
bed-grounds were to be seen on every hand, silent witnesses of an
exodus which was to mark the maximum year in the history of the
cattle movement from Texas. Several times we saw some evidence of
settlement by the natives, but as to the freedom of the country,