cane-brakes." Beyond this,
the bottom-land is open meadow, a sea of green waving grass--the
_gramma_ of the Mexicans--which, without tree or bush, sweeps in to the
base of the bluffs. On each side of the crossing the river is
approached by a path, or rather an avenue-like opening in the timber,
which shows signs of having been felled; doubtless, done by the former
proprietors of the mission, or more like, the soldiers who served its
garrison; a road made for military purposes, running between the
_presidio_ itself and the town of San Antonio de Bejar. Though again
partially overgrown, it is sufficiently clear to permit the passage of
wheeled vehicles, having been kept open by roving wild horses, with
occasionally some that are tamed and ridden--by Indians on raid.

On its northern side the river is approached by two distinct trails,
which unite before entering the wooded tract--their point of union being
just at its edge. One is the main road coming from the Colorado; the
other only an Indian trace, leading direct to the bluffs and the high
land above them. It was by the former that Colonel Armstrong's train
came up the valley, while the latter was the route taken by Hawkins and
Tucker in their bootless excursion after buffalo.

On the same evening, when the hunters, returning from their unsuccessful
search, repassed the ford, only at a later hour, a party of horsemen is
seen approaching it--not by the transverse trace, but the main up-river
road. In all there are five of them; four upon horseback, the fifth
riding a mule. It is the same party we have seen crossing the Sabine--
Clancy and his comrades--the dog still attached to it, the ex-jailer
added. They are travelling in haste--have been ever since entering the
territory of Texas. Evidence of this in their steeds showing jaded,
themselves fatigued. Further proof of it in the fact of their being now
close to the San Saba ford, within less than a week after Armstrong's
party passing over, while more than two behind it at starting from the
Sabine.

There has been nothing to delay them along the route--no difficulty in
finding it. The wheels of the loaded waggons, denting deep in the turf,
have left a trail, which Woodley for one could take up on the darkest
hour of the darkest night that ever shadowed a Texan prairie. It is
night now, about two hours after sundown, as coming up the river road
they enter the timber, and approach the crossing place. When w