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Soon after this they arrived at the place where Thompson had located his

clai away on one side to a dreary

waste of sand and weeds with now and then a giant cactus standing

glooers stretched stiffly to the staring

blue sky Behind where they pitched their final camp--Camp 48, Cash

Markham recorded it in his diary--the hills rose But they were as stark

and barren almost as the desert below Black rock hu rock Bushes and weeds and dry washes for

the rest, with enough struggling grass to feed the horses and burros if

they rustled hard enough for it

They settled down quietly to a life of grinding monotony that would have

driven some men crazy But Bud, because it was a man's kind of monotony,

bore it cheerfully He was out of doors, and he was hedged about by no

rules or petty restrictions He liked Cash Markham and he liked Pete,

his saddle horse, and he was fond of Daddy as still paying the

penalty of seeking too carelessly for shade and, according to Cash's

record, "getting it in his ue, feet & all over body" Bud

liked it--all except the blistering heat and the "side-winders"

and other rattlers He did not bother with trying to formulate any

explanation of why he liked it It h