The journey was resumed without the delay of an hour.  Our first brush with the noble red man served a good purpose, as we were doubly vigilant thereafter whenever there was cause to expect an attack.  There was an abundance of water, as we followed up the South Fork and its tributaries, passing through Buffalo Gap, which was afterward a well-known landmark on the Texas and Montana cattle trail.  Passing over the divide between the waters of the Brazos and Concho, we struck the old Butterfield stage route, running by way of Fort Concho to El Paso, Texas, on the Rio Grande.  This stage road was the original Staked Plain, surveyed and located by General John Pope in 1846.  The route was originally marked by stakes, until it became a thoroughfare, from which the whole of northwest Texas afterward took its name.  There was a ninety-six mile dry drive between the headwaters of the Concho and Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos, and before attempting it we rested a few days.  Here Indians made a second attack on us, and although as futile as the first, one of the horse wranglers received an arrow in the shoulder.  In attempting to remove it the shaft separated from the steel arrowhead, leaving the latter imbedded in the lad’s shoulder.  We were then one hundred and twelve miles distant from Fort Concho, the nearest point where medical relief might be expected.  The drovers were alarmed for the man’s welfare; it was impossible to hold the herd longer, so the young fellow volunteered to make the ride alone.  He was given the best horse in the remuda, and with the falling of darkness started for Fort Concho.  I had the pleasure of meeting him afterward, as happy as he was hale and hearty.

The start across the arid stretch was made at noon.  Every hoof had been thoroughly watered in advance, and with the heat of summer on us it promised to be an ordeal to man and beast.  But Loving had driven it before, and knew fully what was before him as we trailed out under a noonday sun.  An evening halt was made for refreshing the inner man, and as soon as darkness settled over us the herd was again started.  We were conscious of the presence of Indians, and deceived them by leaving our camp-fire burning, but holding our effects closely together throughout the night, the remuda even mixing with the cattle.  When day broke we were fully thirty miles from our noon camp of the day before, yet with the exception of an hour’s rest there was never a halt.  A second day and night were spent in forging ahead, though it is doubtful if we averaged much over a mile an hour during that time.  About fifteen miles out from the Pecos we were due to enter a canon known as Castle Mountain Gap, some three or four miles long, the exit of which was in sight of the river.  We were anxious to reach the entrance of this canon before darkness on the third day, as we could then cut the cattle into bunches, the cliffs on either side forming a lane.  Our horses were as good as worthless