176 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



down a plunging stairway to Wallowa Lake with 

 never a hope for another cony slide on the trail. 

 We were below the peaks. It was necessary, too, 

 that we push forward. Not another day was to 

 be had ! Our time was up ; and besides, there was 

 nothing left to eat but sour-dough bread and con- 

 densed milk. This was too true. And my com- 

 panions imagined that the thought of an extra 

 day on sour-dough bread would cure me of my 

 conies. A few days more of it would have cured 

 me of everything. A particularly good fellow was 

 our cook, one of the State's best game wardens ; 

 all of which applies only remotely to his bread. 

 It was not necessary for me to live. It is not ne- 

 cessary for anybody to live. But it was necessary 

 for me to see a live cony, though I ate more of 

 LefFel's sour-dough bread to pay for it. One may 

 pay too dearly for life. The price on conies, how- 

 ever, is never marked down. 



I said nothing that night. Early the next morn- 

 ing one of the men reported the hobbled horses 

 away off in the meadows at the head of the lake ; 

 and while they were being rounded up and the kit 

 packed, I left camp unobserved, struck the upward 

 trail and made for the peak of the cony slide. 



