he needs of a ranch in the range country is of rare occurrence,
considering the large territory to be supplied. Only here and there at
long intervals is such a spring found, and it is always a desirable and
valuable property. It makes an oasis in the desert that is an
agreeable change from the surrounding barrenness, and furnishes its
owner, if properly utilized, a comfortable subsistence for himself and
herds. His fields produce without fail and the increase of his flocks
and herds is sure.

The isolated rancher who is well located is independent. He is in no
danger of being crowded by his neighbors nor his range becoming over
stocked with stray cattle. His water right gives him undisputed
control of the adjacent range, even though he does not own all the
land, which is an unwritten law of the range and respected by all
cattlemen.

Because of the scarcity of water the range country is sparsely settled
and always will be until more water is provided by artificial means for
irrigation. Even then a large portion of the land will be worthless
for any other purpose than grazing, and stock-growing on the open range
in Arizona will continue to be a staple industry in the future as it
has been in the past.

The range is practically all occupied and, in many places, is already
over stocked. Where more cattle are run on a range than its grass and
water can support there is bound to be some loss. In stocking a range
an estimate should be made of its carrying capacity in a bad year
rather than in a good one, as no range can safely carry more cattle
than it can support in the poorest year; like a chain, it is no
stronger than its weakest link.

A good range is sometimes destroyed by the prairie dog. Wherever he
establishes a colony the grass soon disappears. He burrows in the
ground and a group of such holes is called a dog town. Like the
jack-rabbit he can live without water and is thus able to keep his hold
on the desert. The only way to get rid of him is to kill him, which is
usually done by the wholesale with poison. His flesh is fine eating,
which the Navajo knows if the white man does not. The Navajo considers
him a dainty morsel which is particularly relished by the sick. If a
patient can afford the price, he can usually procure a prairie dog in
exchange for two sheep.

The Navajo is an adept at capturing this little animal. The hunter
places a small looking-glass near the hole and, in concealment near