— 146 — 
next morning (it was the sixth since I had been sepa- 
rated from my party), I went twenty-five miles on a 
stretch to Cottonwood Creek, a wooded stream, that 
arches at this point into a pleasant semi-circle. I was 
looking about for a camping place, when I heard a 
shot in a hollow close by me. Cocking my rifle I rode 
closer, and found my traveling companions again, 
who told me that they had waited for me a day at the 
Little Arkansas, and had finally concluded that I had 
gone on ahead. 
From here on, it was about two hundred miles to 
the border. United again, we started the next day 
(October 5) and covered thirty miles before reaching 
water. My horse was now so exhausted that I could 
hardly bring it into camp. On the second day we 
reached Council Grove. That is the name of a dense 
grove of deciduous trees, extending for some miles 
along a creek of the same name. The Santa Fe cara- 
vans usually stop here to elect their leaders and to 
organize: hence the name. It is about one hundred 
and fifty miles from the border. In these woods deer, 
turkeys and squirrels are found. It rained continuous- 
ly; so we stayed there several days. We started again 
on October 9th. On the 11th we reached the Osage, 
a stream that was almost dried up, with wood in plen- 
ty. It was impossible to get my horse to stir from 
here. He grazed greedily, but from sheer fatigue 
would not move from the spot. “The horse has 
stopped,” is the technical expression of the moun- 
taineers for this condition. When left to itself the 
