LONG RIDE. 163 
between the golden carpet of buffalo grass and the pale green 
of the mesquite tree dotting its surface. 
How to descend was now the question—nothing presented 
itself in the descent but a mass of loose rocks of white streaked 
limestone, no path; no opening, the foot of white man never 
before had been here, but descend we must, so the first foot 
hold witnessed us, plunging, rolling and sliding—men, horses 
and mules, one after other, and sometimes on top of each 
other, pell-mell to the bottom. 
I concluded to turn my horse loose and let him shift for 
himself, but came near losing him by the experiment. His 
rein caught upon a scrub cedar, and there he hung, like 
-Mahomet’s coffin, between heaven and earth, until fortunately 
another horse rolled against the tree, broke it off, and both 
came to the bottom together, safe except a few scratches. 
When all had arrived at the bottom, Conner’s first expres- 
sion was, ‘now may be so, long ride to water,’ and so it 
proved, we rode until nine at night, the Captain and the 
Indians scouring the country in every direction, and found 
none, when, just as we were all in despair—the supply in our 
bags being so insufficient—a halloo in the distance, raised our 
spirits only to be again depressed. 
It was Jacobs, who had found water in a small branch of 
Brazos, but on coming up, we found it so salt and bitter, that 
even our animals would not drink it. 
We were too much exhausted to go further, so unsaddling, 
we prepared to pass the night and make out with the scanty 
