obliged to "dress" for supper, and patch and darn it during
the evening. You will laugh, but it is singular that one can face the
bitter winds with the mercury at zero and below it, in exactly the same
clothing which I wore in the tropics! It is only the extreme dryness
of the air which renders it possible to live in such clothing. We have
arranged the work better. Mr. Buchan was doing too much, and it was
hard for him, as he is very delicate. You will wonder how three people
here in the wilderness can have much to do. There are the horses which
we keep in the corral to feed on sheaf oats and take to water twice a
day, the fowls and dogs to feed, the cow to milk, the bread to make,
and to keep a general knowledge of the whereabouts of the stock in the
event of a severe snow-storm coming on. Then there is all the wood to
cut, as there is no wood pile, and we burn a great deal, and besides
the cooking, washing, and mending, which each one does, the men must
hunt and fish for their living. Then two sick cows have had to be
attended to.

We were with one when it died yesterday. It suffered terribly, and
looked at us with the pathetically pleading eyes of a creature "made
subject to vanity." The disposal of its carcass was a difficulty. The
wagon horses were in Denver, and when we tried to get the others to
pull the dead beast away, they only kicked and plunged, so we managed
to get it outside the shed, and according to Mr. Kavan's prediction, a
pack of wolves came down, and before daylight nothing was left but the
bones. They were so close to the cabin that their noise was most
disturbing, and on looking out several times I could see them all in a
heap wrangling and tumbling over each other. They are much larger than
the prairie wolf, but equally cowardly, I believe. This morning was
black with clouds, and a snowstorm was threatened, and about 700 cattle
and a number of horses came in long files from the valleys and canyons
where they maraud, their instinct teaching them to seek the open and
the protection of man.

I was alone in the cabin this afternoon when Mr. Nugent, whom we
believed to be on the Snowy Range, walked in very pale and haggard
looking, and coughing severely. He offered to show me the trail up one
of the grandest of the canyons, and I could not refuse to go. The Fall
River has had its source completely altered by the operations of the
beavers. Their engineering skill is wonderful. In one