No signs of other animals, but some small birds came near,
and meadow larks whistled their tune, quite familiar to us, but still
sounding slightly different from the song of the same bird in the East.
High in the air could be seen a large sailing hawk or buzzard.
We stopped to rest at noon and noticed that the water ran a little in
the creek bed; but, by the time we were ready to start we found none
with which to fill our canteens. No doubt this water was poured into the
canon somewhere near the place where we killed the three cattle, and we
had got out of it before the flood came down. It was astonishing to see
how the thirsty sand drank up the quite abundant flow.
The next day we came down to the point of hill that nearly crossed the
valley, and we crossed the low ridge rather than make a longer trip to
get around by way of the valley. As we reached the summit there appeared
before us as beautiful a rural picture as one ever looked upon. A large
green meadow, of a thousand acres, more or less; its southwest side
bounded by low mountains, at the base of which oak trees were plenty,
but no brush or undergrowth. It was like a grand old park, such as we
read of in English tales. All over the meadow cattle of all sorts and
sizes grazed, the "Ring-streaked and speckled" of old Jacob's breed
being very prominent. Some lazily cropped the grass; some still more
lazily reclined and chewed their cud; while frisky calves exercised
their muscles in swift races and then secured their dinner from anxious
mothers.
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