consideration in regard to the fording of
the river, for the soft bottom, disturbed by the strong current, soon
lost what little firmness it had along this part of the great bend, and
became treacherous with quicksand. That it was not true quicksand made
but little difference so long as it mired teams and wagons.

Another argument now was begun. There were several fords of the Arkansas
between this point and the mountains; and there were two routes from
here on, the shorter way across the dry plain of the Cimarron, as direct
as any unsurveyed trail could be, and the longer, more roundabout way
leading another hundred miles farther up the river and crossing it not
far from Bent's Fort, over a pebbly and splendid ford. From here it
turned south along the divide between Apishara Creek and the Purgatoire
River, climbed over the mountain range through Raton Pass, and joined
the more direct trail near Santa Clara Spring under the shadow of the
Wagon Mound. Beside the ford above Bent's Fort there was another, about
thirty miles above The Caches, which crossed the river near Chouteau's
Island.

Each ford and each way had its adherents, but after great argument and
wrangling the Dry Route was decided upon, its friends not only proving
the wisdom of taking the shorter route, but also claimed that the
unpleasantness of the miles of dry traveling was no worse than the rough
and perilous road over Raton Pass, where almost any kind of an accident
could happen to a wagon and where, if the caravan were attacked by Utes
or Apaches before it reached the mountain pasture near the top, they
would be caught in a strung-out condition and corralling would be
impossible. The danger from a possible ambush and from rocks rolled down
from above, in themselves, were worse than the desert stretch of the
shorter route.

At last dawn broke with a clear sky, and with praiseworthy speed the
routine of the camp was rushed and the wagons were heading westward
again. Late that afternoon the four divisions became two and rolled down
the slope toward the Cimarron Crossing, going into camp within a short
distance of the rushing river. The sun had shone all day and the night
promised to be clear, and some of the traders whose goods had been
wetted by the storm at The Caches when their wagon covers had been
damaged or blown away, took quick advantage of the good weather to
spread their merchandise over several acres of sand and stubby brush to
dry out thoro