needed was the grey wolf. I was the 

 only woman in the party, and, like 

 "Weary Waddles," tagged behind. 



It was the middle of September, and 

 the weather should have known better. 

 But it was the Bad Lands, and there 

 was a hot spell on. By three o'clock 

 the thermometer showed li6}4 in the 

 shade, and I believed it. The heat 

 and glare simmered around us like fire. 

 The dogs' tongues nearly trailed in the 

 baked dust, the horses' heads hung low, 

 an iron band seemed ever tightening 

 around my head, as the sun beat down 

 upon all alike with pitiless force. 



When we came to the Little Missoula, 

 even its brackish muddy water was 

 welcome, and I shut my eyes to the 

 dirt in the uninviting brown fluid, and 

 my mind to the knowledge of the hor- 

 rid things it would do to me, and drank. 



