IN THE SHEEP COUNTRY 



183 



to cross the stream, which was here very narrow, and a raging 

 torrent. It was far too deep to wade, and we started felling 

 trees and floating them down until at last we got one to rest 

 on both banks. This was only a small cotton-wood tree, and 

 to walk along the big end on our bank was about as much as 

 I could do. To make matters worse, the water dashing over 



Moving Camp in the Sheep Country. 

 Glyn, Hanbury, and Natives. 



it every second made the green bark as slippery as glass. 

 Pitka said that even he thought he could never get over, and 

 certainly not with his pack. It was impossible to use a pole 

 so as to touch the bottom with it, as the weight of water 

 wrenched it out of our hands before we could move it six 

 inches in the stream. I tried crossing on my hands and 

 knees, but had to give it up, as half-way across the tree was 

 so small that I could not get a grip of it. At this juncture 



