coyote. We
learned too that the mountain lions come down from the hills and
sometimes attack the young colts and kill them.

It was with sincere regret that we bade goodbye to Captain and Mrs.
Moorman. May their ranch flourish from year to year!

Shortly after leaving the ranch and in crossing another wide valley, we
saw a herd of several hundred wild horses feeding on the great plain--a
beautiful sight. They were grazing in a rich part of the plain where the
grass looked thick and lush.

I must own to having an impression that the trail across Nevada could be
marked by whiskey bottles if by no other signs. All along our road
across the great State we saw the bottles where they had been thrown in
the sand and dust by passers-by.

Many times I thought of the "Forty-niners," as we saw the sign,
"Overland Trail." In coming along the Lincoln Highway, we are simply
traversing the old overland road along which the prairie schooners of
the pioneers passed. How much heart-ache, heart-break, and hope deferred
this old trail has seen! I think of it as we bowl along so comfortably
over the somewhat rough but yet very passable road. I can appreciate now
the touching story in a San Francisco paper of an old lady who came to
the rear platform of a fine overland train after passing a certain
village station, and threw out some flowers upon the plain. Near here,
she told her friends, her little baby had been buried in the desert
forty years before, as she and her husband toiled with their little
caravan along the trail. The years had passed and they were prosperous
and old in California. And now as she went East on the swift and
beautiful train she threw out her tribute to the little grave somewhere
in the great desert.

As we drew near Ely, the famous copper city, we passed the huge mountain
of earth which forms the wealth of the Ely mines. The Lincoln Highway
signs take one to the right on a short detour in order that one may see
this mountain of ore, which is being cut away by immense steam shovels,
tier above tier. Returning to the main road, we drove on through a
canyon and so came into the bright little town of Ely which has many
evidences of prosperity. We found the Northern Hotel, European in plan,
most comfortable. Next door was an excellent cafe where we had a supper
of which a New York restaurant need not have been ashamed. Leaving Ely
on the morning of June 24th, we drove through Steptoe Valley for some
forty miles. W