ft the range around
the Crossing, all heading south, each accompanied by fully fifty
horsemen. One contingent crossed the Pecos at an Indian trail about
twenty-five miles below Horsehead, another still below, while the
third continued on down the left bank of the river. Yankee Bill and
"Mocho" Wilson, a one-armed man, followed the latter trail, sighting
them late in the evening, but keeping well in the open. When the
Comanches had satisfied themselves that but two men were following
them, small bands of warriors dropped out under cover of the broken
country and attempted to gain the rear of our men. Wilson was an old
plainsman, and once he saw the hopelessness of recovering the cattle,
he and Yankee Bill began a cautious retreat. During the night and when
opposite the ford where the first contingent of beeves crossed, they
were waylaid, while returning, by the wily redskins. The nickering of
a pony warned them of the presence of the enemy, and circling wide,
they avoided an ambush, though pursued by the stealthy Comanches.
Wilson was mounted on a good horse, while Yankee Bill rode a mule, and
so closely were they pursued, that on reaching the first broken ground
Bill turned into a coulee, while Mocho bore off on an angle, firing
his six-shooter to attract the enemy after him. Yankee Bill told
us afterward how he held the muzzle of his mule for an hour on
dismounting, to keep the rascal from bawling after the departing
horse. Wilson reached camp after midnight and reported the
hopelessness of the situation; but morning came, and with it no Yankee
Bill in camp. Half a dozen of us started in search of him, under the
leadership of the one-armed plainsman, and an hour afterward Bill was
met riding leisurely up the river. When rebuked by his comrade for not
coming in under cover of darkness, he retorted, "Hell, man, I wasn't
going to run my mule to death just because there were a few Comanches
in the country!"

In trailing the missing cattle the day previous, I had accompanied Mr.
Loving to the second Indian crossing. The country opposite the ford
was broken and brushy, the trail was five or six hours old, and,
fearing an ambush, the drover refused to follow them farther. With the
return of Yankee Bill safe and sound to camp, all hope of recovering
the beeves was abandoned, and we crossed the Pecos and turned up that
river. An effort was now made to quiet the herd and bring it back to a
normal condition, in order to fit it f