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to go up the trail, and at once to go to the R2 headquarters situated on Mule Creek, a tributary to Red River. Within three days every employee and the herd was ready to hit the Fort Worth and Dodge City trail. The herd was owned by Stephens & Worsham, and was bossed by Daniel P. Gipson. The first night out a thunder storm came up and the cattle stampeded and we ran them all night. I held between 400 and 500, and Billie Gatling held about 600 until after daylight, when several of the boys helped us bring them back to camp. We had 1,800 steers in that herd and it took several days to gather all of them up.
We crossed near Doan's, where the Dodge City trail crosses Red River, and resumed our long and tiresome journey in the direction of the north star. Hour by hour, step by step and day by day we pursued our way, not knowing the hardships that were in store for us. We had from one to three rains a week. Our route lay through the Indian Territory, where the range was a paradise for the long horn. One night we had a stampede in the Wichita Mountains, and when the sun rose on the bedground the next morning there was not a steer in sight. After three days' hard work we again had them ready to wend their way to a distant clime beyond the sands of the Cimarron.
One day Quannah Parker, accompanied by another Indian came to me and wanted "wohaw, plenty fat, heap slick." I pointed to Gipson and told Quannah he was the wohaw chief, but the little Indian shook his head and said Gipson was "no bueno." Gipson told me to ride into the herd and cut them out a yearling, and they went off with it. There were about 500 Indians camped near the trail, and nearly every herd that passed gave them a beef. Hundreds of cowboys knew Quannah Parker, and he had scores of friends among the white people.
After we passed out of the Indian Territory we soon discovered that we had arrived at a Sahara in America.