The next morning was bright and clear, with an east wind, which insured a flood tide in the river.  On first sighting the herd that morning, we made ready to cross them as soon as they reached the river.  The wagon was moved up within a hundred yards of the ford, and a substantial corral of ropes was stretched.  Then the entire saddle stock was driven in, so as to be at hand in case a hasty change of mounts was required.  By this time Honeyman knew the horses of each man’s mount, so all we had to do was to sing out our horse, and Billy would have a rope on one and have him at hand before you could unsaddle a tired one.  On account of our linguistic accomplishments, Quarternight and I were to be sent across the river to put the cattle in and otherwise assume control.  On the Mexican side there was a single string of high brush fence on the lower side of the ford, commencing well out in the water and running back about two hundred yards, thus giving us a half chute in forcing the cattle to take swimming water.  This ford had been in use for years in crossing cattle, but I believe this was the first herd ever crossed that was intended for the trail, or for beyond the bounds of Texas.

When the herd was within a mile of the river, Fox and I shed our saddles, boots, and surplus clothing and started to meet it.  The water was chilly, but we struck it with a shout, and with the cheers of our outfit behind us, swam like smugglers.  A swimming horse needs freedom, and we scarcely touched the reins, but with one hand buried in a mane hold, and giving gentle slaps on the neck with the other, we guided our horses for the other shore.  I was proving out my black, Fox had a gray of equal barrel displacement,—­both good swimmers; and on reaching the Mexican shore, we dismounted and allowed them to roll in the warm sand.

Flood had given us general instructions, and we halted the herd about half a mile from the river.  The Mexican corporal was only too glad to have us assume charge, and assured us that he and his outfit were ours to command.  I at once proclaimed Fox Quarternight, whose years and experience outranked mine, the gringo corporal for the day, at which the vaqueros smiled, but I noticed they never used the word.  On Fox’s suggestion the Mexican corporal brought up his wagon and corralled his horses as we had done, when his cook, to our delight, invited all to have coffee before starting.  That cook won our everlasting regards, for his coffee was delicious.  We praised it highly, whereupon the corporal ordered the cook to have it at hand for the men in the intervals between crossing the different bunches of cattle.  A March day on the Rio Grande with wet clothing is not summer, and the vaqueros hesitated a bit before following the example of Quarternight and myself and dispensing with saddles and boots.  Five men were then detailed to hold the herd as compact as possible, and the remainder, twenty-seven all told, cut off about three hundred