64 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



and a strong wind was blowing cold from the 

 desert. The truck had doubtless been on the 

 road now for twenty-four hours. Where was it 

 with its living freight, its forty cans of young 

 fish, its two wardens, dipping, dipping all day, all 

 night, to aerate the water and keep the fry alive *? 

 Those men had had no sleep all Friday night, 

 none all day Saturday; they would get none to- 

 night — all night. And the driver, the dusty, 

 shock-headed driver who had met us at Bend I 

 What did it mean to drive that heavy truck, with 

 its perishing load, at top speed, without relief or 

 sleep, over the tortuous trail and pulling sands 

 of the High Desert clear to Burns I And all for a 

 few thousand fish ! They had been on the road 

 for twenty-four hours. Should they arrive before 

 morning there still could be no rest for the war- 

 dens, who must go from can to can dipping, dip- 

 ping, dipping, till the fish were put into the 

 streams I 



It was the dead of night, and away yonder, 

 miles and miles over the starlit plain they were 

 coming, a driver and a pounding engine fighting 

 every dragging foot of the way, and two ex- 

 hausted wardens fighting every dragging minute 



