Watering the Herd
What a fountain of bliss is a watering place on the trail. Its waters ripple and sparkle in the sunlight with ever passing breeze. . . . The water may be muddy, stained with the red of all the west and hot with all the days heat from the summer sun, but if only it is sweet and free from gyp, it is well, and like nectar to thirsty man, horse and cow alike. . . . Arriving at last at the waters edge the leaders plunge eagerly in, to be urged onward again and again till all the mighty herd is in the pool. Knee deep, belly deep, or buried to their brown and tawny shoulders in the refreshing waters, their hoofs sunk in the cool sand and ooze of the bottom, they drink, or stand with half closed eyes, or move to drink and drink again, blissful, greatly content with relief from the hot and dusty trail. . . . Over all float the cumulous clouds of a perfect summer day. The trail with its long, hot, weary miles of hardship is forgotten. It is an hour of rest, peace, quiet, while watering the herd.