the open prairie on a clear trail, which twice crossed the
shallow river, and, leaving the main valley, carried us up a narrowing
vale on slightly rising ground. On either side and in front rose abrupt
mountains some two thousand feet above the plain, and below the
remarkable outline of Soda Butte marked the line of the Park boundary.
Near by was a little corral where at some time herdsmen had settled to
give their cattle the use of the abundant grasses of these well-watered
valleys. When there are no Indian scares, the cattle herdsmen make
immense marches in summer, gradually concentrating their stock as the
autumn comes on and returning to the shelter of some permanent ranche.
The very severity and steadiness of the winters are an advantage to
cattle, which do not suffer so much from low temperature as from lack of
food. Farther south, the frequent thaws rot the dried grasses, which are
otherwise admirable fodder, but in Montana the steady cold is rather
preservative, and the winds leave large parts of the plains so free from
snow that cattle readily provide themselves with food.

The cone of Soda Butte stands out on the open and level plain of the
valley, an isolated beehive-shaped mass eighty feet high, and presenting
a rough appearance of irregular courses of crumbled gray stone. It is a
perfectly extinct geyser-cone, chiefly notable for its seeming isolation
from other deposits of like nature, of which, however, the nearer hills
show some evidence. Close to the butte is a spring, pointed out to us by
the major's orderly, who had been left behind to secure our tasting its
delectable waters, which have immense credit as of tonic and digestive
value. I do not distinctly recall all the nasty tastes which have
afflicted my palate, but I am quite sure this was one of the vilest. It
was a combination of acid, sulphur and saline, like a diabolic julep of
lucifer-matches, bad eggs, vinegar and magnesia. I presume its horrible
taste has secured it a reputation for being good when it is down. Close
by it kindly Nature has placed a stream of clear, sweet water.

A mile or so more brought us (August 3d) to camp, which was pitched at
the end of the valley of Soda Butte. We had had eleven hours in the
saddle, and had not ridden over twenty-eight or thirty miles. The train
came straggling in late, and left us time to sharpen our appetites and
admire the reach of grassy plain, the bold brown summits around us, and
at our feet a g