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 for delivery.  With Indian raids, frenzy in stampeding, and an unavoidable dry drive, the cattle had gaunted like rails.  But with an abundance of water and by merely grazing the remainder of the distance, it was believed that the beeves would recover their old form and be ready for inspection at the end of the month of August.  Indian sign was still plentiful, but in smaller bands, and with an unceasing vigilance we wormed our way up the Pecos valley.

When within a day’s ride of the post, Mr. Loving took Wilson with him and started in to Fort Sumner.  The heat of August on the herd had made recovery slow, but if a two weeks’ postponement could be agreed on, it was believed the beeves would qualify.  The circumstances were unavoidable; the government had been lenient before; so, hopeful of accomplishing his mission, the senior member of the firm set out on his way.  The two men left camp at daybreak, cautioned by Goodnight to cross the river by a well-known trail, keeping in the open, even though it was farther, as a matter of safety.  They were well mounted for the trip, and no further concern was given to their