About fifteen miles out from the Pecos we were due to enter a canon
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 canon 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 canon 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 canon 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.
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