The beginning of the Al Frio is a spring near a lone cottonwood tree about a mile west of the ranch house. The water rises in a fissure in the rock. Some rather fabulous stories have been told about its depth. Now follow a chain of deep pools of dark and steely clearness, chillingly cold even in hottest midsummer, with steep, precipitous banks, along which waves a dense and almost impenetrable growth of reeds and tall, wiry grass. Here abound bass in such size and numbers as to tempt the most expert angler. Buffalo Springs is a veritable garden in the dry and dusty Plains, an oasis in the desert. Countless birds not found elsewhere on the Plains assemble here in summer, beautifying with song and bright plumage all the green, cool places. Flowers of exquisite fragrance and great brilliancy of color are found. There are many varieties. In fall and spring, migratory water-fowl descend to disport themselves in the pools. The ranch house, which still remains in excellent condition, was such a house as appealed to a man seeking shelter from winter storms or summer heat. Its original walls of adobe were boxed and plastered, giving them a thickness of nearly two feet. On its dirt floors jangled many a spur. At the kitchen door hangs the triangle gong with which the cook called the "woollies" to meals. Struck with its heavy bar of iron, this old gong booms and rumbles until it can be heard far out on the Plains. Each of its sides measured more than two feet. When this region was wild and uninhabited, these springs were frequented by buffaloes in enormous numbers, crowding and fighting their way to water. In the neighborhood of the pools were treacherous bogs which at this day are a menace to live stock. In the old days buffaloes must have mired there by hundreds. Here the Indians encountered this noble game to their liking. A mile or two east of the springs, there is a slight swell in the Plains where the Comanches are said to have maintained their hunting camp when in that vicinity. From this camp the Plains could be surveyed for miles in every direction. Mounting their horses, the Indian hunters descended like thunderbolts upon the buffaloes massed at the springs, and slaughtered them at will. The hides were pegged down and dried in camp and the meat hung on poles and cured in the dry, pure air for winter use. A kill could be made as often as the red hunters wished to rush to the attack. This account of the history of Buffalo Springs has been given by Mr. John Skelley, one of the rugged and reliable pioneers of Cimarron county; he lives at the postoffice of Wheeless: