For the lad to whom I have given the name of Dick Stevens this
little story has been written, with the hope that he may enjoy
the reading of it even as I did his modest manner of telling it.

JAMES OTIS.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. DICK'S DADDY 1

II. A LONELY VIGIL 17

III. A SAND-STORM 34

IV. AT ANTELOPE SPRING 52

V. DICK "PULLS THROUGH" 69

DICK IN THE DESERT.

CHAPTER I.

DICK'S DADDY.

Between Fox Peak and Smoke Creek Desert, on the western edge of the
State of Nevada, is a beautiful valley, carpeted with bunch grass,
which looks particularly bright and green to the venturesome traveller
who has just crossed either of the two deserts lying toward the east.

"Buffalo Meadows" the Indians named it, because of the vast herds of
American bison found there before the white men hunted simply for the
sport of killing; but those who halt at the last watercourse prior to
crossing the wide stretches of sand on the journey east, speak of it
as "Comfort Hollow."

To a travel-stained party who halted at the water-pool nearest the
desert on a certain afternoon in September two years ago, this last
name seemed particularly appropriate.

They had come neither for gold nor the sport of hunting; but were
wearily retracing their steps, after having wandered and suffered
among the foot-hills of the Sierras in a fruitless search for a home,
on which they had been lured by unscrupulous speculators.

Nearly two years previous Richard Stevens--"Roving Dick" his
acquaintances called him--had first crossed the vast plain of sand,
with his wife, son, and daughter.

His entire worldly possessions consisted of a small assortment of
household goods packed in a stout, long-bodied wagon, covered with
canvas stretched over five poles bent in a half-circle, and drawn by
two decrepit horses.

The journey had been a failure, so far as finding a home in the wilds
was concerned, where the head of the family could live without much
labor; and now the homeless ones, decidedly the worse for wear, were
returning to Willow Point, on the Little Humboldt River.

The provisions had long since been exhausted; the wagon rudely
repaired in many places; the cooking utensils were reduced to one pot
and a battered dipper; the canvas covering was torn and decay