de a big bunch of sage and on
the sage a splendid pair of elk's antlers. We saw many such scattered
over the sands, grim reminders of a past forever gone.

About three o'clock we reached our destination, but no camp was there.
We were more disappointed than I can tell you, but Mrs. Louderer merely
went down to the river, a few yards away, and cut an armful of willow
sticks wherewith to coax Chub to a little brisker pace, and then we
took the trail of the departed mess-wagon. Shortly, we topped a low
range of hills, and beyond, in a cuplike valley, was the herd of sleek
beauties feeding contentedly on the lush green grass. I suppose it
sounds odd to hear desert and river in the same breath, but within a
few feet of the river the desert begins, where nothing grows but sage
and greasewood. In oasis-like spots will be found plenty of grass where
the soil is nearer the surface and where sub-irrigation keeps the roots
watered. In one of these spots the herd was being held. When the grass
became short they would be moved to another such place.

It required, altogether, fifteen men to take care of the herd, because
many of the cattle had been bought in different places, some in Utah,
and these were always trying to run away and work back toward home, so
they required constant herding. Soon we caught the glimmer of white
canvas, and knew it was the cover of the mess-wagon, so we headed that
way.

The camp was quite near the river so as to be handy to water and to
have the willows for wood. Not a soul was at camp. The fire was out,
and even the ashes had blown away. The mess-box was locked and Mrs.
Louderer's loud calls brought only echoes from the high rock walls
across the river. However, there was nothing to do but to make the best
of it, so we tethered the horses and went down to the river to relieve
ourselves of the dust that seemed determined to unite with the dust
that we were made of. Mrs. Louderer declared she was "so mat as nodings
and would fire dot Herman so soon as she could see him alreaty."

Presently we saw the most grotesque figure approaching camp. It was
Herman, the fat cook, on Hunks, a gaunt, ugly old horse, whose days of
usefulness under the saddle were past and who had degenerated into a
workhorse. The disgrace of it seemed to be driving him into a decline,
but he stumbled along bravely under his heavy load. A string of a dozen
sage chickens swung on one side, and across the saddle in front of
Herman la