cattle standing as if asleep, in grateful enjoyment of the
sheeting downpour. As the night wore on, our fears of a stampede
abated, for the buffalo wallows on the mesa filled, and water was
on every hand. The rain ceased before dawn, but owing to the
saturated condition underfoot, not a hoof lay down during the
night, and when the gray of morning streaked the east, what a
sense of relief it brought us. The danger had passed.

Near noon that day, and within a few miles of the North Fork, we
rounded an alkaline plain in which this deadly creek had its
source. Under the influence of the season, alkali had oozed up
out of the soil until it looked like an immense lake under snow.
The presence of range cattle in close proximity to this creek,
for we were in the Cherokee Strip, baffled my reasoning; but the
next day we met a range-rider who explained that the present
condition of the stream was unheard of before, and that native
cattle had instinct enough to avoid it. He accounted for its
condition as due to the dry season, there being no general rains
sufficient to flood the alkaline plain and thoroughly flush the
creek. In reply to an inquiry as to the ownership of the
unfortunate herds, he informed me that there were three, one
belonging to Bob Houston, another to Major Corouthers, and the
third to a man named Murphy, the total loss amounting to about
two thousand cattle.

From this same range-man we also learned our location. Camp
Supply lay up the North Fork some sixty miles, while a plain
trail followed up the first bottom of the river. Wishing to
avoid, if possible, intersecting the western trail south of
Dodge, the next morning I left the herd to follow up, and rode