The pack-train having failed to reach the mouth of the Dirty Devil, these additional rations were to carry us on to the next station, the Crossing of the Fathers; but they were not enough.

The other man with Hamblin was a cousin of the same name, and when they rode away one evening as the sun was going down, we were sorry to part with them.
Their course lay through a wild, desolate country, but we learned later that they had no trouble, though the day after leaving us they ran upon a large camp of Utes.

Fortunately the Utes were friendly.
For our part, we pushed off in our boats and headed for the Crossing of the Fathers with some misgivings on the food question.

A large amount of mail had been brought in, and we enjoyed the newspapers, although they were weeks old.

Some monthly magazines were a great boon.