of us? I don't care
if they didn't pass up the trail since we've been laying over, they are
there just the same. Of course you can't see their camp-fire from here,
but it's in plain view from the bed-ground, and not over four or five
miles away. If I remember rightly, there's a local trail comes in from
the south of the Wichita River, and joins the Chisholm just ahead. And
what's more, that herd was there at nine o'clock this morning, and they
haven't moved a peg since. Well, there's two lads out there waiting to
be relieved, and you second guard know where the cattle are bedded."

CHAPTER VI. CAMP SUPPLY

In gala spirits we broke camp the next morning. The herd had left the
bed-ground at dawn, and as the outfit rode away to relieve the last
guard, every mother's son was singing. The cattle were a refreshing
sight as they grazed forward, their ragged front covering half a mile
in width. The rest of the past few days had been a boon to the few
tender-footed ones. The lay-over had rejuvenated both man and beast.
From maps in our possession we knew we were somewhere near the western
border of the Chickasaw Nation, while on our left was the reservation of
three blanket tribes of Indians. But as far as signs of occupancy were
concerned, the country was unmarked by any evidence of civilization. The
Chisholm Cattle Trail, which ran from Red River to the Kansas line, had
almost fallen into disuse, owing to encroachments of settlements south
of the former and westward on the latter. With the advancement of
immigration, Abilene and Ellsworth as trail terminals yielded to the
tide, and the leading cattle trace of the '70's was relegated to local
use in '84.

The first guard was on the qui vive for the outfit whose camp-fire they
had sighted the night before. I was riding with Clay Zilligan on the
left point, when he sighted what we supposed was a small bunch of cattle
lying down several miles distant. When we reached the first rise of
ground, a band of saddle horses came in view, and while we were trying
to locate their camp, Jack Splann from the opposite point attracted our
attention and pointed straight ahead. There a large band of cattle under
herd greeted our view, compelling us to veer to the right and intersect
the trail sooner than we intended. Keeping a clear half-mile between
us, we passed them within an hour and exchanged the compliments of the
trail. They proved to be "Laurel Leaf" and "Running W" cattle, the
ver