INTO WYOMING 227 



try all men are brothers. Conventional re- 

 straint is thrown aside, and men who have never 

 before seen each other meet as old acquaint- 

 ances — as members of one great family. 



The lull in the storm was brief, and as I rode 

 forward the rain resumed and dusk was set- 

 tling when I at length reached the abrupt and 

 lofty mountains that I was to penetrate, the bar- 

 rier through which Snake River forces its way 

 in the depth of its deep narrow canon, toward 

 which I had been directing my course after 

 crossing the Preuss Range. Here stood the 

 lonely tent of a homesteader and his family, 

 who had not yet completed the log cabin which 

 was to be their home. A mile below I reached 

 Snake River and the ferry. The ferryboat was 

 on the opposite side of the river — a scow, made 

 fast to an overhead rope stretched from shore to 

 shore. It was guided with a tiller, and the cur- 

 rent furnished motive power to propel it. I 

 shouted, and presently the ferryman appeared, 

 crossed the boat for me, and carried me and the 

 horses safely over. The man's name was Rog- 

 ers, and he and Booth, two bachelors, lived 

 here in a little log cabin, with one room and a 

 loft. It was still pouring rain, and they in- 

 vited me to stop with them. I accepted, turned 

 Heart and Button loose to forage, cooked mjr 



