wagon was some distance in the rear, and as the buffalo began to
approach it they would scare and circle around, but constantly coming
nearer the object of their curiosity. The darky finally became alarmed
for fear they would gore his oxen, and unearthed an old Creedmoor
rifle which he carried in the wagon. The gun could be heard for miles,
and when the cook opened on the playful denizens of the plain, a
number of us hurried back, supposing it was an Indian attack. When
within a quarter-mile of the wagon and the situation became clear, we
took it more leisurely, but the fusillade never ceased until we rode
up and it dawned on the darky's mind that rescue was at hand. He had
halted his team, and from a secure position in the front end of the
wagon had shot down a dozen buffalo bulls. Pure curiosity and the
blood of their comrades had kept them within easy range of the
murderous Creedmoor; and the frenzied negro, supposing that his team
might be attacked any moment, had mown down a circle of the innocent
animals. We charged and drove away the remainder, after which we
formed a guard of honor in escorting the commissary until its timid
driver overtook the herd.

The last of the buffalo passed out of sight before we reached the
headwaters of the Concho. In crossing the dry drive approaching the
Pecos we were unusually fortunate. As before, we rested in advance of
starting, and on the evening of the second day out several showers
fell, cooling the atmosphere until the night was fairly chilly. The
rainfall continued all the following day in a gentle mist, and with
little or no suffering to man or beast early in the afternoon we
entered the canon known as Castle Mountain Gap, and the dry drive was
virtually over. Horsehead Crossing was reached early the next morning,
the size of the herd making it possible to hold it compactly, and
thus preventing any scattering along that stream. There had been
no freshets in the river since June, and the sandy sediment had
solidified, making a safe crossing for both herd and wagon. After the
usual rest of a few days, the herd trailed up the Pecos with scarcely
an incident worthy of mention. Early in November we halted some
distance below Fort Sumner, where we were met by Mr. Loving,--who had
gone on to the post in our advance,--with the report that other cattle
had just been accepted, and that there was no prospect of an immediate
delivery. In fact, the outlook was anything but encouraging,