on eight pack mules. The distance was nearly two
hundred miles, and as we neared the encampment we were under the
necessity of crossing a shallow river. It was summer-time, and as we
halted the tired mules to loosen the lash ropes, in order to allow
them to drink, a number of Indian children of both sexes, who
were bathing in the river, gathered naked on either embankment in
bewilderment at such strange intruders. In the innocence of these
children of the wild there was no doubt inspiration for a poet; but
our mission was a commercial one, and we relashed the mules and
hurried into the village with the rent money.

I have never kept a diary. One might wonder that the human mind
could contain such a mass of incident and experiences as has been my
portion, yet I can remember the day and date of occurrences of fifty
years ago. The scoldings of my father, the kind words of an indulgent
mother, when not over five years of age, are vivid in my memory as I
write to-day. It may seem presumptuous, but I can give the year and
date of starting, arrival, and delivery of over one hundred herds of
cattle which I drove over the trail as a common hand, foreman,
or owner. Yet the warnings of years--the unsteady step, easily
embarrassed, love of home and dread of leaving it--bid me hasten these
memoirs. Even my old wounds act as a barometer in foretelling the
coming of storms, as well as the change of season, from both of which
I am comfortably sheltered. But as I look into the inquiring eyes of a
circle of grandchildren, all anxious to know my life story, it seems
to sweeten the task, and I am encouraged to go on with the work.

CHAPTER II

MY APPRENTICESHIP

During the winter of 1865-66 I corresponded with several of my old
comrades in Texas. Beyond a welcome which could not be questioned,
little encouragement was, with one exception, offered me among my old
friends. It was a period of uncertainty throughout the South, yet
a cheerful word reached me from an old soldier crony living some
distance west of Fort Worth on the Brazos River. I had great
confidence in my former comrade, and he held out a hope, assuring me
that if I would come, in case nothing else offered, we could take his
ox teams the next winter and bring in a cargo of buffalo robes. The
plains to the westward of Fort Griffin, he wrote, were swarming with
buffalo, and wages could be made in killing them for their hides. This
caught my fancy and I was impatient