informed us that in two hours we should 
be eating dinner at the ranch house 
in Jackson’s Hole, where we expected 
to stop for a while to recuperate from 
the past year’s hard grind and the past 
two weeks of travel. This was good 
news, as it was then five o’clock and 
our midday meal had been light — de- 
spite the abundance of coffee, soggy 
potatoes, salt pork, wafer slices of meat 
swimming in grease, and evaporated 
apricots wherein some nice red ants 
were banqueting. 
“We'll just cross the Snake River, 
and then it'll be plain sailing,” he said. 
Perhaps it was so. I was inexperi- 
enced in the West. This was what fol- 
lowed :— 
Closing the door on the memory of 
my recent perilous passage, I prepared 
to be calm inwardly, as I like to think 
ZrzO 
SS 
“icomemozriS 
