Climbing up above, Raquel found that under a shelving rock there was moisture. Her groping fingers felt water in the deep crevice, unbelievably cool in its natural rock filter. It took but a long piece of baling wire and a few minutes to clean the pipe, to join it with another length that reached crookedly down to the trough, and to watch the tiny stream trickle forth--to be sucked into thirsty, heat-caked muzzles, before it fell. While she waited there was a continual straggling procession of cattle coming up for water. And now one of those piteous tragedies of the cow country passed before Raquel’s eyes. A drouth-crazed cow came weaving towards the trough. Ten feet away she stopped, lifted her nose to sniff that scent of water, then stumbling a few steps she buried her muzzle in the dust, lapping it feebly, and fell over dead. It was impossible to keep some one at each trough all the time, Raquel reflected sadly as she rode homeward. Her depression was not only because of the suffering, but because it meant terrific loss to the cattle country. And it meant that the Government’s demand for beef could not be met. As she rode Raquel’s eyes traveled anxiously over the plains in search of wandering stock. What cattle she saw were making toward water holes, some of them with stumbling calves at their udders, trying to moisten their baby mouths as they followed along. The little pipe line would take care of them, Raquel reflected gratefully, until the boys could bring them into the home corral. Not more than a mile from the house she came across a big she-mule, tenderly nuzzling a baby _burrito_, that butted feebly and in vain for its dinner against this barren foster-mother. “So you stole you a baby, you poor old childless thing, you.” Raquel dismounted and picked up the fuzzy, rabbit-eared little bundle, weak with hunger. She laid it across her saddle, much to the pinto’s distaste. “Hey, there, Paintbrush! Slow there, boy. It’s all right.” She vaulted quickly into the saddle and trotted away with the _burrito_ in her arms and the bereaved kidnaper following close behind. “Any of you boys see this baby’s mother?” Arrived at the home corral Raquel lifted the woolly little creature, that looked like nothing so much as a giant jack rabbit, into Georgie’s arms, and he bore it off to the house to give it warm milk. As Raquel stepped into the kitchen Mom handed her a letter from Dad. He was proud of the way she had handled the loan. “And do your best, my girl, to save every head of beef this summer. These soldier boys have greater need of meat now than they’re ever likely to have again.” * * * * * June was drawing to a close, a June in which roses had little part; and only the hardiest of flowers bloomed in Mom’s patio.