The command took up its march next day for the Cimarron, and had a hard tramp of it on account of the snow having drifted to a great depth in many of the ravines, and in some places the teamsters had to shovel their way through.  We arrived at the Cimarron at sundown, and went into a nice warm camp.  Upon looking around next morning, we found that Penrose, having been unencumbered by wagons, had kept on the west side of the Cimarron, and the country was so rough that it was impossible for us to stay on his trail with our wagons; but knowing that he would certainly follow down the river, General Carr concluded to take the best wagon route along the stream, which I discovered to be on the east side.  Before we could make any headway with our wagon train we had to leave the river and get out on the divide.  We were very fortunate that day in finding a splendid road for some distance, until we were all at once brought up standing on a high table-land, overlooking a beautiful winding creek that lay far below us in the valley.  The question that troubled us, was, how we were to get the wagons down.  We were now in the foot-hills of the Rattoon Mountains, and the bluff we were on was very steep.

“Cody, we’re in a nice fix now,” said General Carr.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” was my reply.

“But you can never take the train down,” said he.

“Never you mind the train, General.  You say you are looking for a good camp.  How does that beautiful spot down in the valley suit you?” I asked him.

“That will do.  I can easily descend with the cavalry, but how to get the wagons down there is a puzzler to me,” said he.

“By the time you’ve located your camp, your wagons shall be there,” said I.

“All right, Cody, I’ll leave it to you, as you seem to want to be boss,” replied he pleasantly.  He at once ordered the command to dismount and lead the horses down the mountain-side.  The wagon train was a mile in the rear, and when it came up, one of the drivers asked:  “How are we going down there?”

“Run down, slide down or fall down—­any way to get down,” said I.

“We never can do it; it’s too steep; the wagons will run over the mules,” said another wagon-master.

“I guess not; the mules have got to keep out of the way,” was my reply.

Telling Wilson, the chief wagon-master, to bring on his mess-wagon, which was at the head of the train, I said I would try the experiment at least.  Wilson drove the team and wagon to the brink of the hill, and following my directions he brought out some extra chains with which we locked both wheels on each side, and then rough-locked them.  We then started the wagon down the hill.  The wheel-horses—­or rather the wheel-mules—­were good on the hold-back, and we got along finely until we nearly reached the bottom, when the wagon crowded the mules so hard that they started on a run and galloped down into the valley and to the place where General Carr had located his camp.  Three other wagons immediately followed in the same way, and in half an hour every wagon was in camp, without the least accident having occurred.  It was indeed an exciting sight to see the six-mule teams come straight down the mountain and finally break into a full run.  At times it looked as if the wagons would turn a somersault and land on the mules.