a dinner at El Tovar, with the rangers and our closest friends present.
At the same party another ranger announced his engagement and so the
dinner was a hilarious affair.

One of the oldest rangers there, and one notoriously shy with women,
made me the object of a general laugh. He raised his glass solemnly and
said: "Well, here's wishin' you joy, but I jest want to say this: ef
you'd a played yo' cyards a little bit different, you wouldn't 'a had to
take White Mountain."

Before the dinner was over a call came from the public camp ground for
aid. Our party broke up, and we girls went to the assistance of a
fourteen-year-old mother whose baby was ill. Bad food and ignorance had
been too much for the little nameless fellow, and he died about
midnight. There was a terrible electric storm raging, and rain poured
down through the old tent where the baby died.

Ranger Winess carried the little body down to our house and we took the
mother and followed. We put him in a dresser drawer and set to work to
make clothes to bury him in. Ranger Fisk and Ranger Winess made the tiny
casket, and we rummaged through our trunks for materials. A sheer dimity
frock of mine that had figured in happier scenes made the shroud, and
Virginia gave a silken scarf to line the coffin. Ranger Winess tacked
muslin over the rough boards so it would look nicer to the young mother.
There were enough of my flowers left by Dollar Mark to make a wreath,
and that afternoon a piteous procession wended its way to the cemetery.
And such a cemetery! Near the edge of the Canyon, a mile or so from
Headquarters it lay, a bleak neglected spot in a sagebrush flat with
nothing to mark the cattle-tramped graves, of which there were four. At
the edge of the clearing, under a little pine, was the open grave, and