gasping for breath. I was riding third man in the swing from the
point, and noticing something wrong in front, galloped to the
brow of the hill. The smell was sickening and almost unendurable,
and there before us in plain view lay hundreds of dead cattle,
bloated and decaying in the summer sun.

I was dazed by the awful scene. A pretty, greenswarded little
valley lay before me, groups of cottonwoods fringed the stream
here and there, around the roots of which were both shade and
water. The reeking stench that filled the air stupefied me for
the instant, and I turned my horse from the view, gasping for a
mouthful of God's pure ozone. But our beeves had been scenting
the creek for hours, and now a few of the leaders started forward
in a trot for it. Like a flash it came to me that death lurked in
that water, and summoning every man within hearing, I dashed to
the lead of our cattle to turn them back over the hill. Jack
Splann was on the point, and we turned the leaders when within
two hundred yards of the creek, frequently jumping our horses
over the putrid carcasses of dead cattle. The main body of the
herd were trailing for three quarters of a mile in our rear, and
none of the men dared leave their places. Untying our slickers,
Splann and I fell upon the leaders and beat them back to the brow
of the hill, when an unfortunate breeze was wafted through that
polluted atmosphere from the creek to the cattle's nostrils.
Turning upon us and now augmented to several hundred head, they
sullenly started forward. But in the few minutes' interim, two
other lads had come to our support, and dismounting we rushed
them, whipping our slickers into ribbons over their heads. The
mastery of man again triumphed over brutes in their thirst, for
we drove them in a rout back over the divide.