took on board a young man from the ranch who wished to get
back to Salt Lake City. This young fellow was delighted to have such a
ride and Mr. N. was glad to have a traveling companion. Later in the day
we passed Tippett's ranch and learned that its owner travels thirty-six
miles for his mail and supplies. Toward evening we crossed the Utah
border and immediately came upon bad roads. We had a rough stretch until
we reached our station for the night, Ibapah. Ibapah consists of a very
pleasant ranch house and of a general supply grocery, both house and
grocery owned by Mr. Sheridan. We had a comfortable night at the ranch
house and purchased some beautiful baskets made by the Indians and
brought by them to Mr. Sheridan for sale. The air was so fine and the
evening so delightful that we reluctantly retired. Never can I forget
the crystal silences of those still nights on the high plains of the
West. The next day, June 25th, we had a drive of one hundred and twenty
miles across rough and lonely country. From Ibapah we went on through
the valley in which the ranch lay, coming to an extremely rough canyon
road, practically nothing but the bed of a stream. Then came Kearney's
Ranch, where they warned us of some mud holes in the road ahead. We
drove around a rocky point, picking our way carefully, some hot springs
and a sulphur lake smoking off in the distance on our left. The
mountains rose to the right above our route, bare and bald. We came to
Fish Springs Ranch in the midst of this lonely country and stopped for
luncheon. Our host was a tall and powerfully built elderly ranchman in a
blue jumper. A younger man lived with him and the two did their cooking
and eating in a little log and stone house, near the main ranch house.
He explained to us that he kept the little house because it was once a
station on the Wells Fargo stage route. "Horace Greeley ate at this
table when he came on his historic Western trip, and so I keep the place
standing," he said. His young helper cooked our meal in the back room
and our host served it in the front one. We had fried eggs, potatoes,
pickles, cheese, bread, butter, and tea, and an appetizing cup cake cut
in square pieces. I noticed a White House Cook Book lying on a little
table near by. Our host was very hospitable. "Have some of them sweet
pickles, folks." "Do we raise cattle here? You bet we do. I have had
this ranch over thirty years." As we left him he warned us that we were
now enter