Two days after this even, a war party of Comanches swept down along the
river. They "jumped" a neighboring camp, killing one man and wounding
two more, and at the same time ran off all but three of the horses
belonging to our eight adventurers. With the remaining three horses and
one wagon they set out homeward. The march was hard and tedious; they
lost their way and were in jeopardy from quicksands and cloudbursts;
they suffered from thirst and cold, their shoes gave out, and their
feet were lamed by cactus spines. At last they reached Fort Griffen in
safety, and great was their ravenous rejoicing when they procured some
bread--for during the final fortnight of the hunt they had been without
flour or vegetables of any kind, or even coffee, and had subsisted on
fresh meat "straight." Nevertheless, it was a very healthy, as well as
a very pleasant and exciting experience; and I doubt if any of those who
took part in it will ever forget their great buffalo-hunt on the Brazos.

My friend, Gen. W. H. Walker, of Virginia, had an experience in the
early '50's with buffaloes on the upper Arkansas River, which gives
some idea of their enormous numbers at that time. He was camped with
a scouting party on the banks of the river, and had gone out to try
to shoot some meat. There were many buffaloes in sight, scattered,
according to their custom, in large bands. When he was a mile or two
away from the river a dull roaring sound in the distance attracted his
attention, and he saw that a herd of buffalo far to the south, away from
the river, had been stampeded and was running his way. He knew that
if he was caught in the open by the stampeded herd his chance for life
would be small, and at once ran for the river. By desperate efforts
he reached the breaks in the sheer banks just as the buffaloes reached
them, and got into a position of safety on the pinnacle of a little
bluff. From this point of vantage he could see the entire plain. To the