Two men were left with a single mattock to cut out and
improve the exit, while the rest of us reconnoitered the thickety
motte across the river. Goodnight was leery of the thicket, and
suggested firing a few shots into it. We all had long-range guns, the
distance from bank to bank was over two hundred yards, and a fusillade
of shots was accordingly poured into the motte. To my surprise we were
rewarded by seeing fully twenty Indians skulk out of the upper end of
the cover. Every man raised his sights and gave them a parting volley,
but a mesquite thicket, in which their horses were secreted, soon
sheltered them and they fell back into the hills on the western side
of the river. With the coast thus cleared, half a dozen of us rode
down into the river-bed and drove out the last contingent of about
three hundred cattle. Goodnight informed us that those Indians had
no doubt been watching us for days, and cautioned us never to give a
Comanche an advantage, advice which I never forgot.
On our return every one of the bogged cattle had been freed except two
heavy beeves. These animals were mired above the ford, in rather deep
water, and it was simply impossible to release them. The drovers were
anxious to cross the river that afternoon, and a final effort was made
to rescue the two steers. The oxen were accordingly yoked, and, with
all the chain available, were driven into the river and fastened on
to the nearest one.
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