It was full sundown when they reached Rhyolite, which was not a town but a camp beside a spring, usually deserted.

Three years before, a mine had built the camp for the accommodation of the truck drivers who hauled ore to Lund and were sometimes unable to make the trip in one day.

Casey, having adapted his speed to that of the decrepit car of the show people, was thankful that they arrived at all.

He still had a little flour and coffee and salt, and he hoped there was enough grease left on the bacon paper to grease the skillet so that bannocks would not stick to the pan.
He also hoped that his flour would hold out under the onslaught of their appetites.
But Casey was lucky.

A half dozen cowboys were camped there with a pack outfit, meaning to ride the canyons next day for cattle.