With the remaining three horses and one wagon they set out homeward.

The march was hard and tedious; they lost their way and were in jeopardy from quicksands and cloudbursts; they suffered from thirst and cold, their shoes gave out, and their feet were lamed by cactus spines.

At last they reached Fort Griffen in safety, and great was their ravenous rejoicing when they procured some bread--for during the final fortnight of the hunt they had been without flour or vegetables of any kind, or even coffee, and had subsisted on fresh meat "straight." Nevertheless, it was a very healthy, as well as a very pleasant and exciting experience; and I doubt if any of those who took part in it will ever forget their great buffalo-hunt on the Brazos.
My friend, Gen.

W.H.Walker, of Virginia, had an experience in the early '50's with buffaloes on the upper Arkansas River, which gives some idea of their enormous numbers at that time.

He was camped with a scouting party on the banks of the river, and had gone out to try to shoot some meat.