It was getting well into summer and the sun seemed a great red disk in the smoky sky. No one, who has not experienced it, can realize the tedious monotony of those long hot days in the lumbering, swaying old wagons, with the dust and the sun and the slow oxen barely moving, the creaking wagons keeping time to the puff, puff of the oxen's feet in the dust, mile after mile, day after day, and week after week. The talk became half hearted, was disconnected or had ceased altogether. It was easier to sleep, so women and children slept a great deal. Even the drivers would nod and nod, till the slowing up of the oxen would call them to themselves again, for even the oxen seemed spiritless and drowsy and had to be continually urged, to keep them moving at all. I used to sit beside the driver and let my feet hang over the front of the wagon box. Hour after hour, I have watched the slow fore feet of the oxen as they lifted them out of pockets of heavy dust, the suction causing little whirls that drifted and settled about their hind feet, as each in turn found almost the exact spot where the fore feet had been, but a moment before. It makes me drowsy even now when I think about it. Mile after mile I have watched them, till I fancied that I saw red where Dave and Jerry stepped. I tried to show it to Mother for I thought their feet were bleeding and I was worried. Mother said "No, you have looked too long at the red sun." I tried to accept that explanation. I also tried to keep from looking at their feet, but there was nothing else to look at, except the wagon just ahead and the perfectly round rim of the horizon. The grass was dying and looked burned and yellow in the glare. Occasionally a driver would go to sleep. One day my brother, Daniel, a great easy going dreamy eyed boy, was driving one of our teams. He was well toward the rear of the long line of wagons. He fell asleep and the oxen, going slower and slower, finally stopped altogether. The following drivers thought it a fine joke when they pulled out and around to leave the boy and the wagon standing there in the lonely road. It was not till camp was made several hours later that Father missed the boy and his oxen. A party was hastily organized to go back for him. Everyone was frightened, for we were in an Indian country, but they found him quite safe, still asleep, in the middle of the dusty road. Father was very angry at the men who had left him behind. Everyone was provoked about it. I suppose that something was said, there usually was when Father felt justified. But anyway, it never happened to Daniel again or to anyone else for that matter, and it was not laughed about or spoken of as a joke either. Walt Davies Monmouth, OR