halted the herd and
camped for noon, and McCann set out his best in celebrating the
occasion. It was the most enjoyable meal we had had in the past ten
days. After a good noonday rest, we set out, and having entered the
trail during the afternoon, crossed the North Fork late that evening.
As we were going into camp, we noticed a horseman coming up the trail,
who turned out to be smiling Nat Straw, whom we had left on the
Colorado River. "Well, girls," said Nat, dismounting, "I didn't know
who you were, but I just thought I'd ride ahead and overtake whoever
it was and stay all night. Indians? Yes; I wouldn't drive on a trail
that hadn't any excitement on it. I gave the last big encampment ten
strays, and won them all back and four ponies besides on a horse race.
Oh, yes, got some running stock with us. How soon will supper be
ready, cusi? Get up something extra, for you've got company."

CHAPTER XI

A BOGGY FORD

That night we learned from Straw our location on the trail. We were
far above the Indian reservation, and instead of having been astray
our foreman had held a due northward course, and we were probably as
far on the trail as if we had followed the regular route. So in spite
of all our good maxims, we had been borrowing trouble; we were never
over thirty miles to the westward of what was then the new Western
Cattle Trail. We concluded that the "Running W" herd had turned back,
as Straw brought the report that some herd had recrossed Red River the
day before his arrival, giving for reasons the wet season and the
danger of getting waterbound.

About noon of the second day after leaving the North Fork of Red
River, we crossed the Washita, a deep stream, the slippery banks of
which gave every indication of a recent rise. We had no trouble in
crossing either wagon or herd, it being hardly a check in our onward
course. The abandonment of the regular trail the past ten days had
been a noticeable benefit to our herd, for the cattle had had an
abundance of fresh country to graze over as well as plenty of rest.
But now that we were back on the trail, we gave them their freedom and
frequently covered twenty miles a day, until we reached the South
Canadian, which proved to be the most delusive stream we had yet
encountered. It also showed, like the Washita, every evidence of
having been on a recent rampage. On our arrival there was no volume of
water to interfere, but it had a quicksand bottom that would bog a
sad