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<DIV>Somewhere near the crossing of the North Platte, we camped at a place called Soap Springs. It was a boggy place. Old Mr. Mills stepped into a sink hole and, as he said: "went in up to his hat band." Niniva Ford's big black ox blundered into one during the night. In the morning he was found and pulled out before Niniva was up. He was covered, all but his head, with the thick blue mud. Niniva made a great fuss when he could not find his big black ox.</DIV>
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<DIV> Everyone else "hook up." There was a lone blue ox grassing about that no one seemed to claim. Niniva was asked if it were not his. He said: "No my ox is black." Finally he was advised to take it anyway, the owner perhaps had yoked up the black ox by mistake. There seemed nothing else to do, so Niniva, mad as a hornet, went out to catch the ox, while everyone looked on and laughed. After a while Niniva laughed about it too, but he did not at first. He was still too mad at the man that he thought had taken his big black ox.</DIV>
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<DIV><FONT lang=0 face=Arial size=2 FAMILY="SANSSERIF" PTSIZE="10"><B>Walt Davies<BR>Cooper Hollow Farm<BR>Monmouth, OR 97361<BR>503 623-0460 <BR></B><IMG SRC="cid:X.MA1.1084720517@aol.com" title="" height=93 alt="" width=72 border=0 DATASIZE="2892" ID="MA1.1084720517"></FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>