Reed Anthony, Cowman | Page 9

followed up the South Fork and its
tributaries, passing through Buffalo Gap, which was afterward a
well-known landmark on the Texas and Montana cattle trail. Passing
over the divide between the waters of the Brazos and Concho, we
struck the old Butterfield stage route, running by way of Fort Concho
to El Paso, Texas, on the Rio Grande. This stage road was the original
Staked Plain, surveyed and located by General John Pope in 1846. The
route was originally marked by stakes, until it became a thoroughfare,
from which the whole of northwest Texas afterward took its name.
There was a ninety-six mile dry drive between the headwaters of the
Concho and Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos, and before attempting it
we rested a few days. Here Indians made a second attack on us, and
although as futile as the first, one of the horse wranglers received an
arrow in the shoulder. In attempting to remove it the shaft separated
from the steel arrowhead, leaving the latter imbedded in the lad's
shoulder. We were then one hundred and twelve miles distant from Fort
Concho, the nearest point where medical relief might be expected. The
drovers were alarmed for the man's welfare; it was impossible to hold
the herd longer, so the young fellow volunteered to make the ride alone.
He was given the best horse in the remuda, and with the falling of
darkness started for Fort Concho. I had the pleasure of meeting him
afterward, as happy as he was hale and hearty.
The start across the arid stretch was made at noon. Every hoof had been

thoroughly watered in advance, and with the heat of summer on us it
promised to be an ordeal to man and beast. But Loving had driven it
before, and knew fully what was before him as we trailed out under a
noonday sun. An evening halt was made for refreshing the inner man,
and as soon as darkness settled over us the herd was again started. We
were conscious of the presence of Indians, and deceived them by
leaving our camp-fire burning, but holding our effects closely together
throughout the night, the remuda even mixing with the cattle. When
day broke we were fully thirty miles from our noon camp of the day
before, yet with the exception of an hour's rest there was never a halt. A
second day and night were spent in forging ahead, though it is doubtful
if we averaged much over a mile an hour during that time. About
fifteen miles out from the Pecos we were due to enter a cañon known as
Castle Mountain Gap, some three or four miles long, the exit of which
was in sight of the river. We were anxious to reach the entrance of this
cañon before darkness on the third day, as we could then cut the cattle
into bunches, the cliffs on either side forming a lane. Our horses were
as good as worthless during the third day, but the saddle mules seemed
to stand grief nobly, and by dint of ceaseless effort we reached the
cañon and turned the cattle loose into it. This was the turning-point in
the dry drive. That night two men took half the remuda and went
through to Horsehead Crossing, returning with them early the next
morning, and we once more had fresh mounts. The herd had been
nursed through the cañon during the night, and although it was still
twelve miles to the river, I have always believed that those beeves
knew that water was at hand. They walked along briskly; instead of the
constant moaning, their heads were erect, bawling loud and deep. The
oxen drawing the wagon held their chains taut, and the commissary
moved forward as if drawn by a fresh team. There was no attempt to
hold the herd compactly, and within an hour after starting on our last
lap the herd was strung out three miles. The rear was finally abandoned,
and when half the distance was covered, the drag cattle to the number
of fully five hundred turned out of the trail and struck direct for the
river. They had scented the water over five miles, and as far as control
was concerned the herd was as good as abandoned, except that the
water would hold them.

Horsehead Crossing was named by General Pope. There is a difference
of opinion as to the origin of the name, some contending that it was due
to the meanderings of the river, forming a horse's head, and others that
the surveying party was surprised by Indians and lost their stock. None
of us had slept for three nights, and the feeling of relief on reaching the
Pecos, shared alike by man and beast, is indescribable. Unless one has
endured such