n the
mountain-sides. The larks were trying to outdo each other and the
robins were so saucy that I could almost have flicked them with the
willow I was using as a whip. The rabbit-bush made golden patches
everywhere, while purple asters and great pink thistles lent their
charm. Going in that direction, our way lay between a mountain stream
and the foothills. There are many ranches along the stream, and as we
were out so early, we could see the blue smoke curling from each house
we passed. We knew that venison steak, hot biscuit, and odorous coffee
would soon grace their tables. We had not had the venison, for the
"gude mon" holds to the letter of the law which protects deer here, but
we begrudged no one anything; we were having exactly what we wanted. We
jogged along happily, if slowly, for I must explain to you that Chub is
quite the laziest horse in the State, and Bill, his partner, is so old
he stands like a bulldog. He is splay-footed and sway-backed, but he is
a beloved member of our family, so I vented my spite on Chub, and the
willow descended periodically across his black back, I guess as much
from force of habit as anything else. But his hide is thick and his
memory short, so we broke no record that day.

We drove on through the fresh beauty of the morning, and when the sun
was straight overhead we came to the last good water we could expect
before we reached Mrs. Louderer's; so we stopped for lunch. In Wyoming
quantity has a great deal more to do with satisfaction than does
quality; after half a day's drive you won't care so much what it is
you're going to eat as you will that there is enough of it. That is a
lesson I learned long ago; so our picnic was real. There were no ants
in the pie, but that is accounted for by there being no pie. Our road
had crossed the creek, and we were resting in the shade of a
quaking-asp grove, high up on the sides of the Bad Land hills. For
miles far below lay the valley through which we had come.

Farther on, the mountains with their dense forests were all wrapped in
the blue haze of the melancholy days. Soon we quitted our enchanted
grove whose quivering, golden leaves kept whispering secrets to us.

About three o'clock we came down out of the hills on to the bench on
which the Louderer ranch is situated. Perhaps I should explain that
this country is a series of huge terraces, each terrace called a
bench. I had just turned into the lane that leads to the house when a
horse