A brook ran out of a ravine in the huge bluff, and from this led irrigation ditches.

The red earth seemed to blossom at the touch of water.
The place resembled an Indian encampment--quiet, sleepy, colorful, with the tiny-streams of water running everywhere, and lazy columns of blue wood-smoke rising.

Bostil's Ford was the opposite of a busy village, yet its few inhabitants, as a whole, were prosperous.

The wants of pioneers were few.

Perhaps once a month the big, clumsy flatboat was rowed across the river with horses or cattle or sheep.