ON THE PRAIRIE 35 



barely passed; the dew lay heavy, in glit- 

 tering drops, on the leaves and the blades of 

 grass, whose vivid green, at this season, for 

 a short time brightens the desolate and 

 sterile-looking wastes of the lonely western 

 plains. The rose-bushes were all in bloom, 

 and their pink blossoms clustered in every 

 point and bend of the stream ; and the sweet, 

 sad songs of the hermit thrushes rose from 

 the thickets, while the meadow larks perched 

 boldly in sight as they uttered their louder 

 and more cheerful music. The round-up 

 had passed by our ranch, and all the cattle 

 with our brands, the maltese cross and cut 

 dewlap, or the elk-horn and triangle, had 

 been turned loose ; they had not yet worked 

 away from the river, and I rode by long 

 strings of them, walking in single file off to 

 the hills, or standing in groups to look at 

 me as I passed. 



Leaving the creek I struck off among a 

 region of scoria buttes, the ground rising into 

 rounded hills through whose grassy cover- 

 ing the red volcanic rock showed in places, 



