struck out to hunt the missing cattle.  An hour after sunrise the boy was seen to ride deliberately away from his charge, without cause or excuse, and had not returned.  Desertion was the general supposition.  Had he not been mounted on one of the firm’s horses the offense might have been overlooked.  But the delivery of the herd depended on the saddle stock, and two men were sent on his trail.  The rain had freshened the ground, and after trailing the horse for fifteen miles the boy was overtaken while following cattle tracks towards the herd.  He had simply fallen asleep in the saddle, and the horse had wandered away.  Yankee Bill had made the trip to Sumner with us the fall before, and stood well with his employers, so the incident was forgiven and forgotten.

From Elm Creek to the beginning of the dry drive was one continual struggle with stampeding cattle or warding off Indians.  In spite of careful handling, the herd became spoiled, and would run from the howl of a wolf or the snort of a horse.  The dark hour before dawn was usually the crucial period, and until the arid belt was reached all hands were aroused at two o’clock in the morning.  The start was timed so as to reach the dry drive during the full of the moon, and although it was a test of endurance for man and beast, there was relief in the desert waste—­from the lurking savage—­which recompensed for its severity.  Three sleepless nights were borne without a murmur, and on our reaching Horsehead Crossing and watering the cattle they were turned back on the mesa and freed for the time being.  The presence of Indian sign around the ford was the reason for turning loose, but at the round-up the next morning the experiment proved a costly one, as three hundred and sixty-three beeves were missing.  The cattle were nervous and feverish through suffering from thirst, and had they been bedded closely, stampeding would have resulted, the foreman choosing the least of two alternatives in scattering the herd.  That night we slept the sleep of exhausted men, and the next morning even awaited the sun on the cattle before throwing them together, giving the Indian thieves full ten hours the start.  The stealing of cattle by the Comanches was something unusual, and there was just reason for believing that the present theft was instigated by renegade Mexicans, allies in the war of ’36.  Three distinct trails left the range around the Crossing, all heading south, each accompanied by fully fifty horsemen.  One contingent crossed the Pecos at an Indian trail about twenty-five miles below Horsehead, another still below, while the third continued on down the left bank of the river.  Yankee Bill and “Mocho” Wilson, a one-armed man, followed the latter trail, sighting them late in the evening, but keeping well in the open.  When the Comanches had satisfied themselves that but two men were following them, small bands of warriors dropped out under cover of the broken country and attempted to gain the rear of our men.  Wilson