IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 73 



for breakfast, mostly. The alkali mud stuck to our feet, as 

 we tramped around, like warm wax, and large quantities of 

 grass, mixing in with it, our feet looked more like bales of 

 hay, than like the pedal extremities of human beings. Our 

 poor mules shivered in the cold rain, and were anxious to 

 get started. 



We moved out at eight o'clock, and at three in the after- 

 noon camped among the foothills, within a mile of the 

 mouth of the canyon of the Little Big Horn river, where it 

 comes out of the mountains. 



