The report was
laid before the two drovers, who advised that we await the dawn,
which was then breaking, as it was possible that the caravan had been
captured and robbed by Indians. A number of us circled around to the
farther side, and as we again approached the wagons in the uncertain
light we hailed again and received in reply a shot, which cut off the
upper lobe of one of the boys' ears. We hugged the ground for some
little time, until the presence of our outfit was discovered by the
lone guardian of the caravan, who welcomed us. He apologized, saying
that on awakening he supposed we were Indians, not having heard our
previous challenge, and fired on us under the impulse of the moment.
He was a well-known trader by the name of "Honey" Allen, and was then
on his way to El Paso, having pulled out on the dry stretch about
twenty-five miles and sent his oxen back to water. His present cargo
consisted of pecans, honey, and a large number of colonies of live
bees, the latter having done the buzzing on our first reconnoitre. At
his destination, so he informed us, the pecans were worth fifty cents
a quart, the honey a dollar a pound, and the bees one hundred dollars
a hive. After repairing the damaged ear, we hurried on, finding
Allen's oxen lying around the water on our arrival. I met him several
years afterward in Denver, Colorado, dressed to kill, barbered, and
highly perfumed.
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