with all our eyes alert that was easy. The grade was down hill, so
that we traveled fast, covering four miles an hour. Occasionally a
log or thicket halted rapid progress. Toward the end of the afternoon
sheep and cattle trails joined the now well-defined road, and we knew
we were approaching a ranch. I walked, or rather limped the last mile,
for the very good reason that I could not longer bear the trot of
my horse. The forest grew more open, with smaller pines, and fewer
thickets. At sunset I came out upon the brow of a deep barren-looking
canyon, in the middle of which squatted some old ruined log-cabins.
Deserted! Alas for my visions of a cup of cold milk. For hours they
had haunted me. When Doyle saw the broken-down cabins and corrals he
yelled: "Boys, it's Jones' Ranch. I've been here. We're only three
miles from Long Valley and the main road!"

Elated we certainly were. And we rushed down the steep hill to look
for water. All our drinking water was gone, and the horses had not
slaked their thirst for two days. Separating we rode up and down the
canyon. R.C. and Romer found running water. Thereupon with immense
relief and joy we pitched camp near the cabins, forgetting our aches
and pains in the certainty of deliverance.

What a cold, dismal, bleak, stony, and lonesome place! We unpacked
only bedding, and our little store of food. And huddled around the
camp-fire we waited upon Doyle's cooking. The old pioneer talked while
he worked.

"Jones' ranch!--I knew Jones in the early days. And I've heard of him
lately. Thirty years ago he rode a prairie schooner down into this
canyon. He had his wife, a fine, strong girl, and he had a gun, an
axe, some chuck, a few horses and cattle, and not much else. He built
him that cabin there and began the real old pioneering of the early
days. He raised cattle. He freighted to the settlements twice a year.
In twenty-five years he had three strapping boys and a girl just as
strapping. And he had a fortune in cattle. Then he sold his stock and
left this ranch. He wanted to give his faithful wife and his children
some of the comforts and luxuries and advantages of civilization. The
war came. His sons did not wait for the draft. They entered the army.
I heard a story about Abe Jones, the old man's first boy. Abe was a
quiet sort of chap. When he got to the army training camp a sergeant
asked Abe if he could shoot. Abe said: 'Nope, not much.' So they gave
him a rifle and told him to