went farther down, and finally had a brilliant idea. "My feet are
awfully cold, and couldn't I walk a while?" The Chief had probably heard
that same excuse from a thousand others, but he gravely assented and
helped me dismount. I started down the trail leading Dixie. My feet
really were so cold they were numb. This was probably a mercy, since
Dixie kept stepping on them! I began to run to "keep out from in under,"
and she kept pace until we were almost galloping down the trail. When we
got below the snow line, my excuse wouldn't work, and I had to ride
again.

There was sagebrush and sand and cactus. Then sand and cactus and
sagebrush. Here and there we saw a lop-eared burro, and far away I saw
an eagle sailing around. Having nothing else to do I counted the burros
we passed--seventy. A bunch grazing near the trail looked interesting,
so I made a careful approach and took their picture. Of course I forgot
to roll the film, and a little later Friend Husband decided to
photograph the enormous pillar that gives the name to Monument Creek.
The result was rather amazing when we developed the film a week later.
The wild burros were grazing placidly on the summit of a barren rock, a
couple of hundred feet in the air, without visible means of ascent or
descent. The Chief made a few sarcastic remarks about this picture, but
I firmly reminded him my burros were there first! He didn't say anything
else--aloud.

It took a long day's riding to reach Hermit's Camp just at dusk. We were
warmly welcomed by a roaring fire and hot supper. After I ate and then
sat a while I was too stiff to move. I knew I would stay awake all night
and nurse my aches. That, added to my fear of "phoby cats," made me
reluctant to retire. What's a hydrophobia cat? I don't know for sure
that it's anything, but the camp man told me to keep my door locked or