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 116% 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. 
Whenwe 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. 
gle 
SOOMMMIZM AY ZHTOS > 
