. Francis of San Francisco. We assured him that we
did not mind simplicity and were deeply interested in seeing our country
under all sorts of conditions. He was spending some hours of his time
before the solitary train came through in persuading the groceryman to
commit himself for a large bill of goods. The commercial man said sadly
that never before in his ten years of travel had he seen business so
uncertain.

The water at Point of Rocks comes from a thousand feet below the surface
and has a slight sulphur taste.

CHAPTER IX

We drove from Point of Rocks to Wamsutter, where we had luncheon. The
road from Point of Rocks to Wamsutter is very rough and we were
tormented by the plague of these roads of the plains; namely, gutters
made across the roadway by running water in time of freshets. One has to
be continually on guard for these runnels. Sometimes they are very deep.
They give the machine a frightful jar and if one comes upon them
suddenly they are likely to break an axle. One must possess one's self
in patience and drive at a pace that will enable him to slow down
quickly in coming on them. Chuck holes and these gutters across the road
are the two chief difficulties of travel across the plains. However,
many a backcountry road of the Eastern States is just as uncomfortable
for motor travelers.

On our way to Wamsutter we passed a fellow traveler, a gentleman from
New York with his family. His son drove their car, a Pope Hartford, and
they were seventeen days out from New York. They had ten days more in
which to reach San Francisco if they were to help their friends win the
wagers which had been made on the time of their trip across country. We
assured them that they would be able to reach San Francisco in ten days,
barring serious accidents, if only they would rise early and drive late,
making ten hours a day.

Just outside of Point of Rocks we had come upon another and a humbler
caravan. A man and his wife were encamped in a canvas-covered
moving-wagon by the roadside, having found a patch of grass that
promised forage for the horses. We stopped to talk with them and learned
that they lived near Pueblo, Colorado. Having planted their crop they
had come away on a prospecting tour into northern Wyoming to look up
better farming country. They were now returning, traveling by day and
camping by the roadside at night. They had had what is called mountain
fever, due they thought to the bites of mosquitoe