When one sleeps upon the open ground at night with nothing above one's head but the clear blue sky, the sun seems to rise wonderfully early on a bright, unclouded, midsummer morning. As our only artificial lights in this wandering life were tallow candles in a lantern, we soon made the interesting discovery that the night is made for sleep, whereupon we naturally lapsed into the nocturnal habits of aborigines, which on the whole were doubtless quite as consistent with nature as was our own previous custom. So, on the evening after leaving Baker's ranch, the story of the past day having been fully rehearsed, one after another, as the evening shadows began to gather, the boys quietly sought as eligible a spot as could be found on the ground nearby, and they sought it in very much the same deliberate manner as the horse finds his chosen bed, and sinks upon it at the close of day. When the light of the yet unrisen sun was silently heralding the approach of the on-coming day, it awakened our out-of-door sleepers, and there began at once in both camps the usual early morning activities, for both outfits were to pull out by sunrise. The delightful aroma of coffee and frying bacon stole through the air, stimulating the appetites of men whose stomachs were in waiting. Our tin cups had not been emptied when from the southward we heard the cracking of whips and the yelping of the mounted mule herders as they came upon the run, rushing the long-eared drove toward the big corral, which was separated from our camp by possibly the fourth of a mile. Soon after the mules had been driven into the enclosure and were expressing some uninterpretable emotions by loud yet plaintive brayings, our boys were actively harnessing their horses, which had been picketed upon the range; speedily they pulled out, while the big train soon uncoiled itself not far behind. Three of us on horseback rode some distance in advance.