Page:Cherokee Trails (1928).pdf/144

 sculpture, and narrow in the waist on the same order of art. He had a large bony nose with a down-curve at the end of it like a horse: his face was long and narrow, his cheeks and chin bluish-black with the stubble of a splendid stand of whiskers which had been mown that morning. He was cleanly dressed in the common cowboy garb, and seemed to be of a happy disposition in spite of the glum look his thinness, and dark, irrepressible stubble gave him.

He drove the team until it was a lather of sweat at every point where tug and backband touched. Then he said he guessed they'd got their dose, but it would be a good thing if they had a load behind them and a good long hill in front. Tom said he was projecting an expedition afield for bones. If the driver thought bones would answer, they could go over to the river where, he had been told, there were plenty. Bones would be admirable, the stranger declared with enthusiasm.

There were more bones along the willow fringe of that little stream than Simpson had allowed his most extravagant fancy to compute. He had supposed a few hundred cattle, at the most, had perished there, and those stretched out over a long thin line. Here lay not hundreds alone, but thousands, of skeletons, some of them still held together by dry integument. There, against the frail barrier of willows and cottonwoods the starving herds had lodged, eaten the willows and other small shrubs to the snow, and died.

The stranger stood in the wagon and looked over the desolate scene, amazement in his face, incredulity in his eyes. The grass was lush there, where no creature had