we started, Flood
rode in from the herd, and said to Honeyman, "I'm going to send the
horses and wagon ahead to-night, and you and McCann want to camp on
this side of the river, under the hill and just a few hundred yards
below the ford. Throw your saddle horses across the river, and build a
fire before you go to sleep, so we will have a beacon light to pilot
us in, in case the cattle break into a run on scenting the water. The
herd will get in a little after midnight, and after crossing, we'll
turn her loose just for luck."

It did me good to hear the foreman say the herd was to be turned
loose, for I had been in the saddle since three that morning, had
ridden over eighty miles, and had now ten more in sight, while
Honeyman would complete the day with over a hundred to his credit. We
let the _remuda_ take the lead in pulling out, so that the wagon mules
could be spurred to their utmost in keeping up with the loose horses.
Once they were clear of the herd, we let the cattle into the trail.
They had refused to bed down, for they were uneasy with thirst, but
the cool weather had saved them any serious suffering. We all felt
gala as the herd strung out on the trail. Before we halted again there
would be water for our dumb brutes and rest for ourselves. There was
lots of singing that night. "There's One more River to cross," and
"Roll, Powder, roll," were wafted out on the night air to the coyotes
that howled on our flanks, or to the prairie dogs as they peeped from
their burrows at this weird caravan of the night, and the lights which
flickered in our front and rear must have been real Jack-o'-lanterns
or Will-o'-the-wisps to these occupants of the plain. Before we had
covered half the distance, the herd was strung-out over two miles, and
as Flood rode back to the rear every half hour or so, he showed no
inclination to check the lead and give the sore-footed rear guard a
chance to close up the column; but about an hour before midnight we
saw a light low down in our front, which gradually increased until the
treetops were distinctly visible, and we knew that our wagon had
reached the river. On sighting this beacon, the long yell went up and
down the column, and the herd walked as only long-legged, thirsty
Texas cattle can walk when they scent water. Flood called all the
swing men to the rear, and we threw out a half-circle skirmish line
covering a mile in width, so far back that only an occasional glimmer
of the lead light