ned to death. As
it was we were nearly suffocated from traveling in a dense smoke for
several hours. Then, fortunately, we reached the bottom lands of the
Arkansas River and were safe from fire, as the valley was very wide and
covered with tall green grass which could not burn; and no sooner was
the last wagon on safe ground than the fire gained the rim of the green
bottomland. Our oxen were exhausted and in a bad plight, so we
fortified and camped here for several days to recuperate before we
forded the river. This took up several days, as the water was quite
high and the river bottom a dangerous quicksand. To stop the wheels of
a wagon for one moment meant the loss of the wagon and the lives of the
cattle, perhaps. The treacherous sands would have engulfed them. Forty
yoke of oxen were hitched to every vehicle, and we had no losses. On
the other side we found the prairie burned over, and we traveled all
day until evening in order to reach a suitable camping place with
sufficient grass for our animals. As there was no water and the cattle
were suffering, we were compelled to drive our herd back to the river
and return again that same night. The rising sun found us under way
again, and by noon we came to good camping ground with an abundance of
grass and water.

CHAPTER III.

THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR. THE AMBUSH

Now we were past the most dangerous part of our journey, leaving the
Comanche country and entering the domain of the Ute Indians and other
tribes, who were not as brave as the Arapahoes and Comanches. Here our
caravan-formation was broken up and each outfit traveled separately at
its own risk.

The next day we witnessed a most horrible and distressing sight.
Willingly would I surrender several years of my allotted lifetime on
earth if I could thereby efface forever the awful impression of this
pitiful tragedy from my memory. Alas I that I was fated to behold the
shocking sight! For days thereafter we plodded on, a sad-looking,
sober, downhearted lot of men, grieved to distraction, and there I left
the innocence of boyhood--wiser surely, but not better! We neared the
still smoking ruins of what had once been a happy home. As I approached
to gratify my curiosity, I met several of my companions, who were
returning and who implored me not to go nearer. An old Mexican,
ignorant, rough, and callous as he was, begged me, with tears streaming
down his face, to retrace my steps. A