ins, had wallowed in the snows of the Blue Mountains,
followed the tortuous, rocky canyon of Burnt River, and gone through the
deep sands of the Snake, this ox had gained 137 pounds, and weighed 1607
pounds. While laboring under the short end of the yoke that gave him
fifty-five per cent of the draft and an increased burden, he would keep
his end of the yoke a little ahead, no matter how much the mate might be
urged to keep up.

There are pronounced individualities in animals as well as in men. I
might have said virtues, too--and why not? If an animal always does his
duty and is faithful and industrious, why not recognize this character,
even if he is "nothing but an ox"?

To understand the achievements of this ox it is necessary to know the
burden that he carried. The wagon weighed 1430 pounds, had wooden axles
and wide track, and carried an average load of 800 pounds. Along with an
unbroken four-year old steer, a natural-born shirk, Twist had hauled the
wagon 1776 miles, and he was in better working trim just before he died
than when the trip began. And yet, am I sure that at some points I did
not abuse him? What about coming up out of Little Canyon, or rather up
the steep, rocky steps of stones like stairs, when I used the goad, and
he pulled a shoe off his feet? Was I merciful then, or did I exact more
than I ought?

I can see him yet, in my mind, on his knees, holding the wagon from
rolling into the canyon till the wheel could be blocked and the brakes
set. Then, when bidden to start the load, he did not flinch. He was the
best ox I ever saw, without exception, and his loss nearly broke up the
expedition. His like I could not find again. He had a decent burial. A
headboard marks his grave and tells of the aid he rendered in this
expedition to perpetuate the memory of the old Oregon Trail.

[Illustration: Twist, a noble animal.]

What should I do--abandon the work? No. But I could not go on with one
ox. So a horse team was hired to take us to the next town, Gothenburg,
thirteen miles distant. The lone ox was led behind the wagon.

Again I hired a horse team to haul the wagon to Lexington. At Lexington
I thought the loss of the ox could be repaired by buying a pair of heavy
cows and breaking them in to work, so I purchased two out of a band of
two hundred cattle.

"Why, yes, of course they will work," I said, in reply to a bystander's
question. "I have seen whole teams of cows on the Plains in '52. Yes, we
wi