66 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



local band came out to escort'them to the grounds, 

 and, to the tune of " There '11 be a Hot Time in 

 the Old Town To-night," went down to the field 

 to play until the car should come. 



Four o'clock. I had ceased to look or care. 

 My one hope now was that the car would not 

 get in, that it was a total wreck somewhere in the 

 hopeless sagebrush of Crook County, where the 

 road, I remembered, was next to impassable. They 

 had mercifully had a break-down, I was thinking, 

 when there came a clatter of hoofs, a yelping of 

 dogs, a shout, a loud chug-chugging* and up to the 

 hotel steps ground the truck, as grim an outfit as 

 ever pulled in from a desert. 



With the town a-trailing, the car went on to 

 the garage, where the water was quickly changed 

 and iced down, the ranchers given their allot- 

 ments of the young fish, and the unclaimed cans 

 reloaded and hurried out to the nearest running 

 stream. 



But it was too late. I emptied the first can, and 

 a little swirl of tiny whitish fish curled into an 

 eddy and sank slowly to the bottom. One of 

 them darted away another keeled, curved out 

 on its side, gasped, gulped the water, snapped 



