in their thirsty condition, I was determined to move them as far
as possible before darkness overtook us. But within an hour we
crossed a country trail over which herds had passed on their way
northwest, having left the Chisholm after crossing the North
Fork. At the first elevation which would give me a view of the
creek, another scene of death and desolation greeted my vision,
only a few miles above the first one. Yet from this same hill I
could easily trace the meanderings of the creek for miles as it
made a half circle in our front, both inviting and defying us.
Turning the herd due south, we traveled until darkness fell,
going into camp on a high, flat mesa of several thousand acres.
But those evening breezes wafted an invitation to come and drink,
and our thirsty herd refused to bed down. To add to our
predicament, a storm thickened in the west. Realizing that we
were confronting the most dangerous night in all my cattle
experience, I ordered every man into the saddle. The remuda and
team were taken in charge by the wrangler and cook, and going
from man to man, I warned them what the consequences would be if
we lost the herd during the night, and the cattle reached the
creek.

The cattle surged and drifted almost at will, for we were
compelled to hold them loose to avoid milling. Before ten o'clock
the lightning was flickering overhead and around us, revealing
acres of big beeves, which in an instant might take fright, and
then, God help us. But in that night of trial a mercy was
extended to the dumb brutes in charge. A warm rain began falling,
first in a drizzle, increasing after the first hour, and by
midnight we could hear the water slushing under our horses' feet.
By the almost constant flashes of lightning we could see the