A half hour before dark, Flood and all the herd men turned out to bed down the cattle for our first night.  They had been well grazed after counting, and as they came up to the bed ground there was not a hungry or thirsty animal in the lot.  All seemed anxious to lie down, and by circling around slowly, while gradually closing in, in the course of half an hour all were bedded nicely on possibly five or six acres.  I remember there were a number of muleys among the cattle, and these would not venture into the compact herd until the others had lain down.  Being hornless, instinct taught them to be on the defensive, and it was noticeable that they were the first to arise in the morning, in advance of their horned kin.  When all had lain down, Flood and the first guard remained, the others returning to the wagon.

The guards ride in a circle about four rods outside the sleeping cattle, and by riding in opposite directions make it impossible for any animal to make its escape without being noticed by the riders.  The guards usually sing or whistle continuously, so that the sleeping herd may know that a friend and not an enemy is keeping vigil over their dreams.  A sleeping herd of cattle make a pretty picture on a clear moonlight night, chewing their cuds and grunting and blowing over contented stomachs.  The night horses soon learn their duty, and a rider may fall asleep or doze along in the saddle, but the horses will maintain their distance in their leisurely, sentinel rounds.

On returning to the wagon, Priest and I picketed our horses, saddled, where we could easily find them in the darkness, and unrolled our bed.  We had two pairs of blankets each, which, with an ordinary wagon sheet doubled for a tarpaulin, and coats and boots for pillows, completed our couch.  We slept otherwise in our clothing worn during the day, and if smooth, sandy ground was available on which to spread our bed, we had no trouble in sleeping the sleep that long hours in the saddle were certain to bring.  With all his pardonable faults, The Rebel was a good bunkie and a hail companion, this being his sixth trip over the trail.  He had been with Lovell over a year before the two made the discovery that they had been on opposite sides during the “late unpleasantness.”  On making this discovery, Lovell at once rechristened Priest “The Rebel,” and that name he always bore.  He was fifteen years my senior at this time, a wonderfully complex nature, hardened by unusual experiences into a character the gamut of whose moods ran from that of a good-natured fellow to a man of unrelenting severity in anger.

We were sleeping a nine knot gale when Fox Quarternight of the second guard called us on our watch.  It was a clear, starry night, and our guard soon passed, the cattle sleeping like tired soldiers.  When the last relief came on guard and we had returned to our blankets, I remember Priest telling me this little incident as I fell asleep.