Roger's fat horse no longer tried to unseat its rider or its pack, but seemed to be the most downhearted of the train.

The little mule was the liveliest, sharpest witted animal of the whole.

She had probably traveled on the desert before and knew better how to get along.

She had learned to crop every spear of grass she came to, and every bit of sage brush that offered a green leaf was given a nip.

She would sometimes leave the trail and go out to one side to get a little bunch of dry grass, and come back and take her place again as if she knew her duty.