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worlds and east where distance ran beyond the
reach of his eyes. He asked himself what he would do when he got
there. Enjoy himself while the strength of his young time fluttered
his bones. Enjoy himself. Sure. Chase down memories. It was as good a
life as any he knew and better than most. Git along, hoss.
    They were on a high tableland where trees were few
and the wind could tear at them from any direction. A tumbleweed tore
loose from its hold on earth and went rolling away. He had sand, the
scourings of wind, in his teeth, in his ears and his clothes. The
horses walked with their heads down, their manes and tails whipping.
The torn air had the beginning bite of winter in it.
    They had made good time, Summers thought while his
horse shied at a tumbleweed that blew past his nose. They had tackled
the trail early and late and kept going through all the days. They
should be over the mountains and out on the plains before heavy snow
fell, though no man could tell the way of the weather.
    The trail led downhill and away, and from behind him
Higgins shouted against the wind, "Holy Christ, what a slope!"
    There, down from them, was the Snake and its feeder,
the Clearwater. Hard by was a shack and a horse corral. Both seemed
deserted. Here, down in the hole, the air turned warmer. They held
up, looking.
    " If there was someone to home," Higgins
said, his eyes on the shack, "we might pay a visit. Might hear
some news."
    " News don't matter to us, Hig. It's just talk
where talk means nothin', just air passin' by."
    " Might be more."
    " Only if it's news of a war party, Injuns on the
peck, and that ain't likely now, I'm thinkin'."
    Higgins was a good man. He worked fine in harness. He
did his full share of work. He didn't complain. And it was natural to
him that he hankered to talk to somebody else. It was natural he
asked questions there was no answer to. They didn't matter.
    They helped pass the time in camp.
    At the bank of the Snake Summers held up again.
"Looks like we could ford most anywhere. Some swimmin' water,
but this ain't the Snake we knew before. It's calmed down a right
smart. Let's move a piece, so's to land on the right bank of the
Clearwater. That"s where the trail is."
    " Water's deeper there on account of the
Clearwater comin' in."
    "But not too bad I bet you."
    They dismounted a few yards downstream and loosened
the cinches so the horses could draw in plenty of air and float
lighter.
    Before they tried the crossing Summers asked, "How's
your horses at swimmin'?"
    " You seen them before. Like fish." Higgins
gave his toothless grin. "You know. Under water."
    A man couldn't call the ford bad. A place or two the
horses had to swim, and the current carried them downstream a piece,
but they climbed up on shore all right, and the packs hadn't
suffered.
    They waited for the horses to get their wind back.
"Trail's over there, I figure," Summers said, "and we
got a good part of the day left. What say we charge ahead if you're
up to it?"
    " Up to it, hell! Just keep out of my way."
    The trail led into forests, into dense, tall stands
of evergreens, some of which grew straight as a plumb line. Not all
of the trees were the trees of Oregon. Some of them had different
bark and different shape. The sun was lost here, crowded out, only a
rare shaft slanting through the overhead growth. It wasn't land to a
man's liking, not to his anyway, though there was no wet in the air
and no salt. The wind had let up.
    They found a small clearing and made camp just as
dusk was closing in. They heated water and washed and shook the sand
out of their clothes and put them back on again, for the night had
turned chill. They ate deer meat that was going sour.
    They lighted pipes afterward and sat and let the
earth draw out their fag while they fed small bites to the fire.
    " Reckon we're halfway to yonder?" Higgins
asked.
    " Couple of days, thereabouts, we ought to move
down to the Bitter Root. Meantime we have to kill meat for the pot."
    " Grouse