On our return every one of the bogged cattle had been freed except two heavy beeves.  These animals were mired above the ford, in rather deep water, and it was simply impossible to release them.  The drovers were anxious to cross the river that afternoon, and a final effort was made to rescue the two steers.  The oxen were accordingly yoked, and, with all the chain available, were driven into the river and fastened on to the nearest one.  Three mounted drivers had charge of the team, and when the word was given six yoke of cattle bowed their necks and threw their weight against the yokes; but the quicksand held the steer in spite of all their efforts.  The chain was freed from it, and the oxen were brought around and made fast again, at an angle and where the footing was better for the team.  Again the word was given, and as the six yoke swung round, whips and ropes were plied amid a general shouting, and the team brought out the steer, but with a broken neck.  There were no regrets, and our attention was at once given to the other steer.  The team circled around, every available chain was brought into use, in order to afford the oxen good footing on a straight-away pull with the position in which the beef lay bogged.  The word was given for an easy pull, the oxen barely stretched their chains, and were stopped.  Goodnight cautioned the drivers that unless the pull was straight ahead another neck would be broken.  A second trial was made; the oxen swung and weaved, the chains fairly cried, the beef’s head went under water, but the team was again checked in time to keep the steer from drowning.  After a breathing spell for oxen and victim, the call was made for a rush.  A driver was placed over every yoke and the word given, and the oxen fell to their knees in the struggle, whips cracked over their backs, ropes were plied by every man in charge, and, amid a din of profanity applied to the struggling cattle, the team fell forward in a general collapse.  At first it was thought the chain had parted, but as the latter came out of the water it held in its iron grasp the horns and a portion of the skull of the dying beef.  Several of us rode out to the victim, whose brain lay bare, still throbbing and twitching with life.  Rather than allow his remains to pollute the river, we made a last pull at an angle, and the dead beef was removed.

We bade Horsehead Crossing farewell that afternoon and camped for the night above Dagger Bend.  Our route now lay to the northwest, or up the Pecos River.  We were then out twenty-one days from Belknap, and although only half way to our destination, the worst of it was considered over.  There was some travel up and down the Pecos valley, the route was even then known as the Chisum trail, and afterward extended as far north as Fort Logan in Colorado and other government posts in Wyoming.  This cattle trace should never be confounded with the Chisholm trail, first opened by a half-breed named Jesse Chisholm, which ran from