if he doesn't let the room cool off; also broadly hinting their disapproval
of his over-fondness for "Adam's ale," and threaten to make him "set
'em up" every time he tumbles in hereafter. In revenge for these remarks,
"Beaver" piles more wood into the stove, and, with many a westernism
- not permitted in print - threatens to keep up a fire that will drive them
all out of the shanty if they persist in their persecutions. Crossing
next day the low, broad pass over the Uintah Mountains, some stretches
of ridable surface are passed over, and at this point I see the first
band of antelope on the tour; but as they fail to come within the
regulation two hundred yards they are graciously permitted to live.

At Piedmont Station I decide to go around by way of Port Bridger and
strike the direct trail again at Carter Station, twentyfour miles farther
east.

A tough bit of Country. The next day at noon finds me "tucked in my
little bed" at Carter, decidedly the worse for wear, having experienced
the toughest twenty-four hours of the entire journey. I have to ford no
less than nine streams of ice-cold water; get benighted on a rain-soaked
adobe plain, where I have to sleep out all night in an abandoned freight-
wagon; and, after carrying the bicycle across seven miles of deep, sticky
clay, I finally arrive at Carter, looking like the last sad remnant of
a dire calamity - having had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. From
Carter my route leads through the Bad-Lands, amid buttes of mingled clay
and rock, which the elements have worn into all conceivable shapes, and
conspicuous among them can be seen, to the south, "Church Buttes," so
called from having been chiselled by the dexterous hand of nature into
a group of domes and pinnacles, that, from a distance, strikingly resembles
some magnificent cathedral. High-water marks are observable on these
buttes, showing that Noah's flood, or some other aqueous calamity once