ched the inhabitants, they deserted them to try their
luck in new fields of promise. Often they were eager to be the first
ones in on the new finds and left without preparation or notice,
trailing across mountains and through canyons, afoot, each anxious to be
the first man on the ground, to have his choice of location, to stake
his claim first. They could not carry all their household goods on
their shoulders, nor pack them on a burro's back, and to freight them
over a hundred miles of mountain trails cost more than the purchase of
new goods in the new town. So they departed with only such necessities
as they could carry, and abandoned the rest to pack rats and chance
wanderers such as I.

So these towns, born of their high hopes, died, as their dreams
flickered out, and were abandoned when new hopes sprung up in their
breasts.

I forgot my hunger in unraveling the mysteries of the silent village,
but my companion showed no such inclination. Being a pack burro, and
having a prospector for a master, he had come to look upon tragedy with
a philosophical eye. No doubt he had seen deserted towns before, and
been the innocent victim of the desertion. He grew bored as I lingered
over letters and the other evidence of bygone days and nudged me
frequently to remind me of our original object in searching the cabins.
At last he protested with a vigorous, "Aww-hee-awwhee, a-w-w-h-e-e--"
Remembering his loyalty of the night before, to appease him I left off
rummaging in those dust-covered cabins.

"All right, pal, I'll come. We'll leave this grave-yard right away and
try our luck at fishing."

He seemed to understand for he capered about like a playful puppy.

I knew of several small streams below the town, alive with trout. I
headed for the nearest one, the burro plodding patiently behind,
silent, expectant.

The smell of smoke, coffee, and other camp odors came up the trail to
meet us. Soon we came abruptly in sight of two prospectors who were
eating a belated breakfast.

"Reckon you better have a bite with us," invited one of the men as he
set the tin-can coffee pot upon the coals of their fire.

"Thet thar burro bin a pesterin' you?" asked the second man, fixing the
burro with a searching gaze.

"Oh, no!" I denied, remembering my debt to the animal. "We put in the
night together, and he even ate some of my hardtack this morning," I
ended laughing.

"He's the tarnationist critter, always a galavantin' rou