me to do this; by waiting until the
latter part of the month for starting, it was believed that few
Indians would be encountered, as the time was nearing for their annual
buffalo hunt for robes and a supply of winter meat. This was a gala
occasion with the tribes which depended on the bison for food and
clothing; and as the natural hunting grounds of the Comanches and
Kiowas lay south of Red River, the drovers considered that that would
be an opportune time to start. The Indians would no doubt confine
their operations to the first few tiers of counties in Texas, as the
robes and dried meat would tax the carrying capacity of their horses
returning, making it an object to kill their supplies as near their
winter encampment as possible.

Some twenty days were accordingly spent in gathering beeves along the
main Brazos and Clear Fork. Our herd consisted of about a thousand in
the straight ranch brand, and after receiving and road-branding five
hundred outside cattle we were ready to start. Sixteen men constituted
our numbers, the horses were culled down until but five were left to
the man, and with the previous armament the start was made. Never
before or since have I enjoyed such an outing as this was until we
struck the dry drive on approaching the Pecos River. The absence of
the Indians was correctly anticipated, and either their presence
elsewhere, preying on the immense buffalo herds, or the drift of
the seasons, had driven countless numbers of that animal across our
pathway. There were days and days that we were never out of sight of
the feeding myriads of these shaggy brutes, and at night they became
a menace to our sleeping herd. During the day, when the cattle were
strung out in trail formation, we had difficulty in keeping the two
species separated, but we shelled the buffalo right and left and moved
forward. Frequently, when they occupied the country ahead of us,
several men rode forward and scattered them on either hand until a
right of way was effected for the cattle to pass. While they remained
with us we killed our daily meat from their numbers, and several of
the boys secured fine robes. They were very gentle, but when occasion
required could give a horse a good race, bouncing along, lacking grace
in flight.

Our cook was a negro. One day as we were nearing Buffalo Gap, a
number of big bulls, attracted by the covered wagon, approached the
commissary, the canvas sheet of which shone like a white flag. The