Our success, however, was only temporary. Recovering our horses
we beat the cattle back, seemingly inch by inch, until the rear
came up, when we rounded them into a compact body. They quieted
down for a short while, affording us a breathing spell, for the
suddenness of this danger had not only unnerved me but every one
of the outfit who had caught a glimpse of that field of death.
The wagon came up, and those who needed them secured a change of
horses. Leaving the outfit holding the herd, Splann and I took
fresh mounts, and circling around, came in on the windward side
of the creek. As we crossed it half a mile above the scene of
disaster, each of us dipped a hand in the water and tasted it.
The alkali was strong as concentrated lye, blistering our mouths
in the experiment. The creek was not even running, but stood in
long, deep pools, clear as crystal and as inviting to the thirsty
as a mountain spring. As we neared the dead cattle, Splann called
my attention to the attitude of the animals when death relieved
them, the heads of fully two thirds being thrown back on their
sides. Many, when stricken, were unable to reach the bank, and
died in the bed of the stream. Making a complete circle of the
ghastly scene, we returned to our own, agreeing that between five
and six hundred cattle had met their fate in those death-dealing
pools.

We were not yet out of the woods. On our return, many of the
cattle were lying down, while in the west thunder-clouds were
appearing. The North Fork of the Canadian lay on our left, which
was now our only hope for water, yet beyond our reach for the
day. Keeping the slight divide between us and the creek, we
started the herd forward. Since it was impossible to graze them