sawdust,--we began what might be called the second
stage of our journey; the 175-mile run to Blake or Green River, Utah,
a little west of south from Jensen. Ten miles below Jensen was a ferry
used by the auto and wagons. Here also was a ranch house, with a
number of people in the yard. We were invited to land and did so. They
had been informed by telephone of our coming and were looking for us;
indeed they had even prepared dinner for us, hoping we would reach
there in time. Not knowing all this, we had eaten our cold lunch half
an hour before. The women were busy preserving fruits and garden
truck, and insisted on us taking two or three jars along. This was a
welcome change to the dried fruit, which was one of our principal
foods. These people made the usual request--"Drop us a post card if
you get through."

The memory of these people that we met on this journey will linger
with us as long as we live. They were always anxious to help us or
cheer us on our way.

We passed a dredge that evening and saw a man at work with a team and
scoop shovel, the method being to scoop up the gravel and sand, then
dump it in an iron car. This was then pulled by the horses to the top
of a derrick up a sloping track and dumped. A stream of water pumped
up from the river mixed with the gravel, the entire mass descended a
long zigzagging chute. We paused a few minutes only and did not
examine the complicated process of separating the mineral from the
gravel. This dredge had been recently installed. We camped early, half
a mile below the dredge.

Emery had been feeling poorly all this day. He blamed his
indisposition to having eaten too many good things when in Vernal--a
break in training, as it were. This was our excuse for a short run
that day. I played nurse and gave him some simple remedy from the
little supply that we carried; and, after he was in his sleeping bag,
I filled some hot-water bags for the first time on the trip, and soon
had him feeling quite comfortable.

A hard wind came up that night, and a little rain fell. I had a busy
half-hour keeping our camp from being blown away. The storm was of
short duration, and all was soon quiet again. On the following morning
Emery felt so good that I had a hard time in keeping up with him and I
wondered if he would ever stop. Towards evening, after a long pull, we
neared the reservation of the Uinta Utes, and saw a few Indians camped
away from the river. Here, again, were the cotton