It was a wet, bad year on the Old Western Trail. From Red River north

and all along was herd after herd waterbound by high water in the

rivers. Our outfit lay over nearly a week on the South Canadian, but

we were not alone, for there were five other herds waiting for the

river to go down. This river had tumbled over her banks for several

days, and the driftwood that was coming down would have made it

dangerous swimming for cattle.

We were expected to arrive in Dodge early in June, but when we reached

the North Fork of the Canadian, we were two weeks behind time.

Old George Carter, the owner of the herd, was growing very impatient

about us, for he had had no word from us after we had crossed Red

River at Doan's crossing. Other cowmen lying around Dodge, who had

herds on the trail, could hear nothing from their men, but in their

experience and confidence in their outfits guessed the cause--it was

water. Our surprise when we came opposite Camp Supply to have Carter

and a stranger ride out to meet us was not to be measured. They had

got impatient waiting, and had taken the mail buckboard to Supply,

making inquiries along the route for the _Hat_ herd, which had not

passed up the trail, so they were assured. Carter was so impatient

that he could not wait, as he had a prospective buyer on his hands,

and the delay in the appearing of the herd was very annoying to him.

Old George was as tickled as a little boy to meet us all.

The cattle were looking as fine as silk. The lay-overs had rested

them. The horses were in good trim, considering the amount of wet

weather we had had. Here and there was a nigger brand, but these

saddle galls were unavoidable when using wet blankets. The cattle were

twos and threes. We had left western Texas with a few over thirty-two

hundred head and were none shy. We could have counted out more, but on

some of them the Hat brand had possibly faded out. We went into a

cosy camp early in the evening. Everything needful was at hand, wood,

water, and grass. Cowmen in those days prided themselves on their

outfits, and Carter was a trifle gone on his men.