and indifferent how they
get there.

However, the Pecos was reached and the herds watered with comparatively
small losses, and both Loving's and Goodnight's outfits lay at rest for
three days to recuperate at Horsehead Crossing. Then the drive up the
wide, level valley of the Pecos was begun, through thickets of
_tornilla_ and _mesquite_, horses and cattle grazing belly-deep in the
tall, juicy _zacaton_.

The perils of the _Llano Estacado_ were behind them, but they were now
in the domain of the Comanche and in hourly danger of ambush or open
attack. They found a great deal of Indian "sign," their trails and
camps; but the "sign" was ten days or two weeks old, which left ground
for hope that the war parties might be out on raids in the east or
south. After travelling four days up the Pecos without encountering
any fresh "sign," they concluded that the Indians were off on some
foray; therefore it was decided that Loving might with reasonable
safety proceed ahead of the herds to make arrangements at Fort Sumner
for their delivery, provided he travelled only by night, and lay in
concealment during the day.

In Loving's outfit were two brothers, Jim and Bill Scott, who had
accompanied his two previous Pecos drives, and were his most
experienced and trusted men. He chose Jim Scott for his companion on
the dash through to Fort Sumner. When dark came, Loving mounted a
favourite mule, and Jim his best horse; then, each well armed with a
Henry rifle and two six-shooters, with a brief "So long, boys!" to
Goodnight and the men, they trotted off up the trail. Riding rapidly
all night, they hid themselves just before dawn in the rough hills
below Pope's Crossing, ate a snack, and then slept undisturbed till
nightfall. As soon as it was good dusk they slipped down a ravine to
the river, watered their mounts, and resumed the trail to the north.
This night also was uneventful, except that they rode into, and roused,
a great herd of sleeping buffalo, which ran thundering away over the
Plain.

Dawn came upon them riding through a level country about fifteen miles
below the present town of Carlsbad, without cover of any sort to serve
for their concealment through the day. They therefore decided to push
on to the hills above the mouth of Dark Canon. Here was their mistake.
Had they ridden a mile or two to the west of the trail and dismounted
before daylight, they probably would not have been discovered. It was
madness for