66 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



local band came out to escort them to the grounds, 

 and, to the tune of " There '11 be a Hot Time in 

 the Old Town To-night," went down to the field 

 to play until the car should come. 



Four o'clock. I had ceased to look or care. 

 My one hope now was that the car would not 

 get in, that it was a total wreck somewhere in the 

 hopeless sagebrush of Crook County, where the 

 road, I remembered, was next to impassable. They 

 had mercifully had a break-down, I was thinking, 

 when there came a clatter of hoofs, a yelping of 

 dogs, a shout, a loud chug-chugging, and up to the 

 hotel steps ground the truck, as grim an outfit as 

 ever pulled in from a desert. 



With the town a-trailing, the car went on to 

 the garage, where the water was quickly changed 

 and iced down, the ranchers given their allot- 

 ments of the young fish, and the unclaimed cans 

 reloaded and hurried out to the nearest running 

 stream. 



But it was too late. I emptied the first can, and 

 a little swirl of tiny whitish fish curled into an 

 eddy and sank slowly to the bottom. One of 

 them darted away — another keeled, curved out 

 on its side, gasped, gulped the water, snapped 



