In summer, excepting during the round-ups, we never had butcher meat, and in my camp butter, eggs and milk were not known; but in winter I always had lots of good beef, potatoes, butter and some eggs from the Mormons, but still no milk.

This was varied, too, by wild duck, teal and snipe shot along the river bottom.
Talking of snipe, it is very wonderful how a wounded bird will carefully dress and apply down and feathers to the injury, and even apply splints and ligatures to a broken limb.
My principal duties at this season consisted in riding the range on the lookout for unbranded calves, many calves always being missed on the round-up.

This was really rather good sport.

Such calves are generally big, strong, fat, and run like jack-rabbits, and it takes a fast and keen pony to catch them.

Occasionally you would be lucky enough to find a maverick, a calf or a yearling so old as to have left its mother and be still running loose without a brand and therefore without an owner.
It was particular satisfaction to get one's rope, and therefore one's brand, on to such a rover, though it might really not be the progeny of your own cattle at all.