It was at Lyman that we heard talk of the ever smouldering feud between cattlemen and sheepmen. Not far from Lyman is the "dead line" over which sheepmen are not allowed to take their sheep. On the other side of this stern boundary are the cattlemen, and they have issued a warning to the sheepmen which they have more than once carried out. A few years ago a sheepman either purposely or carelessly got over the dead line with his sheep. He was mysteriously shot and two hundred of his sheep were killed in one night. No one knows who the murderer was. Back in the shadows looms the threat of the cattlemen, grim and real. We had been told in Wyoming of the buying of a big ranch by adjacent ranch people in order that no sheepman might come in to share the water and the ranges with the cattleman. Cattle will not feed, they tell us, where sheep have fed, as the sheep tear up the earth and also graze very closely. It is impossible for sheep and cattle to graze comfortably on the same ranges. We left Lyman in high spirits after a good breakfast, driving along with the Wahsatch mountains on our right and with detached mountains continually appearing on the horizon as we moved eastward. We were now in the region of what they call in the West "buttes," a "butte" being, so far as I know, a detached, isolated mass of mountain. The Wyoming buttes are wonderfully carved by wind and sand and weather and many of them present a mysterious and imposing appearance. Often they are table lands, rising square and massive against the horizon like immense fortresses. On the way to Granger these massive table lands with their square outlines loom up against the grander background of the snowy Wahsatch range.