I rode Signy. We packed up Raudi, and took the route least travelled, ending up at the edge of a boggy trail. So we backtracked, and returned to our original campsite. Pete speculated that the road we wanted to travel on—Antelope Creek Road—was at the top of a nearby hill.

We all headed in that direction, first stopping to go through a creek. Signy, who by now had made it clear that she’d rather be a packhorse, balked. So I dismounted and walked off in search of an easier crossing, leaving Signy to graze. Seconds later, I looked back and saw that she had, of her own volition, crossed the creek. I had no choice but to follow on foot. The creek water was knee deep and cold. After, I clambered up the quarter-

mile long very steep hill. Squish, squish, went socks and boots. Pete was right—there was indeed a road at the top.

We eventually came to another stock tank, this one a series of barrels cut in half, and set up camp. Raudi was no more thrilled about being a packhorse than Signy was being a riding horse. She kept stopping and looking at the pack. We’d originally planned it so that we’d rotate pack duties. The two have now let us know in their own horsey way that things were fine the way they were.

Next: Dispatch #25: Sargents and Points Beyond