we could have them on one condition--that we visit him that evening.
This was a price we were only too glad to pay, and the evening will
linger long in our memories.

Mr. Holmes entertained us with stories of hunting trips--after big
game in the wilds of Colorado; and among the lakes of the Wind River
Mountains, the distant source of the Green River. Mrs. Holmes and two
young ladies entertained us with music; and Jimmy, much to our
surprise, joined in with a full, rich baritone. It was late that night
when we rolled ourselves in our blankets, on the banks twenty feet
above the river.

Next morning we were shown a group of Mrs. Holmes' pets--several young
rabbits and a kitten, romping together in the utmost good fellowship.
The rabbits had been rescued from a watery grave in an irrigation
ditch and carefully nursed back to life. We helped her search for a
lame wild duck that had spurned the offer of a good home with
civilized ducklings, and had taken to the sage-brush. Mrs. Holmes'
love of wild animals, however, failed to include the bald-headed eagle
that had shown such an appetite for her spring chickens.

A few miles below this ranch we passed Bridger Crossing, a ford on an
old trail through southern Wyoming. In pioneer days Jim Bridger's home
was on this very spot. But those romantic days are long since past;
and where this world-famous scout once watched through the loopholes
of his barricade, was an amazed youngster ten or eleven years old who
gazed on us, then ran to the cabin and emerged with a rifle in his
hands. We thought little of this incident at the time, but later we
met the father of the boy and were told that the children had been
left alone with the small boy as their only protector, and that he