After we had turned down the western slope we killed a small hawk.

"Here's your meat" said I, as the poor thin fellow was stowed away for future grub, to cook with the crow.
When we got out of the snow we had lost the trail again but the hills on the sides were covered with large brush, and on a higher part of the mountain south, were some big trees, and we began to think the country would change for the better pretty soon.

We followed down the ravine for many miles, and when this came out into a larger one, we were greatly pleased at the prospect, for down the latter came a beautiful little running brook of clear pure water, singing as it danced over the stones, a happy song and telling us to drink and drink again, and you may be sure we did drink, for it had been months and months since we had had such water, pure, sweet, free from the terrible alkali and stagnant taste that had been in almost every drop we had seen.

Rogers leveled his shot gun at some birds and killed a beautiful one with a top knot on his head, and colors bright all down his neck.

It was a California quail.