It was an Indian camp, and had evidently been abandoned only that morning, for the fires were still smouldering.  Ordering the wagon to camp on the creek and the cattle to graze forward till noon, Flood returned to the Indian camp, taking two of the boys and myself with him.  It had not been a permanent camp, yet showed evidence of having been occupied several days at least, and had contained nearly a hundred lean-tos, wickyups, and tepees—­altogether too large an encampment to suit our tastes.  The foreman had us hunt up the trail leaving, and once we had found it, all four of us ran it out five or six miles, when, from the freshness of it, fearing that we might be seen, we turned back.  The Indians had many ponies and possibly some cattle, though the sign of the latter was hard to distinguish from buffalo.  Before quitting their trail, we concluded they were from one of the reservations, and were heading for their old stamping ground, the Pan-handle country,—­peaceable probably; but whether peaceable or not, we had no desire to meet with them.  We lost little time, then, in returning to the herd and making late and early drives until we were out of that section.

But one cannot foresee impending trouble on the cattle trail, any more than elsewhere, and although we encamped that night a long distance to the north of the abandoned Indian camp, the next morning we came near having a stampede.  It happened just at dawn.  Flood had called the cook an hour before daybreak, and he had started out with Honeyman to drive in the remuda, which had scattered badly the morning before.  They had the horses rounded up and were driving them towards camp when, about half a mile from the wagon, four old buffalo bulls ran quartering past the horses.  This was tinder among stubble, and in their panic the horses outstripped the wranglers and came thundering for camp.  Luckily we had been called to breakfast, and those of us who could see what was up ran and secured our night horses.  Before half of the horses were thus secured, however, one hundred and thirty loose saddle stock dashed through camp, and every horse on picket went with them, saddles and all, and dragging the picket ropes.  Then the cattle jumped from the bed ground and were off like a shot, the fourth guard, who had them in charge, with them.  Just for the time being it was an open question which way to ride, our saddle horses going in one direction and the herd in another.  Priest was an early riser and had hustled me out early, so fortunately we reached our horses, though over half the outfit in camp could only look on and curse their luck at being left afoot.  The Rebel was first in the saddle, and turned after the horses, but I rode for the herd.  The cattle were not badly scared, and as the morning grew clearer, five of us quieted them down before they had run more than a short mile.