Presho

We saw no large range herds, though there were no herd laws to keep them off private property.

One could drive straight as the crow flies from Pierre to Presho, 40 or 50 miles, without stopping to open a gate.

If one struck a fence around a quarter section here or there, he either got out and cut the wire in two or drove around a corner of the fence, depending upon how he felt about fences being in the way.

No wonder sheep herders went crazy, we thought, swallowed up by that sea of brown dry grass, by the endless monotony of space.

In bad weather, when it was difficult to travel across the prairie, her class dwindled until, at times, she had no pupils at all.

End of chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Land of the Burnt Thigh by Edith Eudora Cole This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Read by Matthew McNaughton Chapter 3 Any Fool Can Set Type McClure, South Dakota, it's on the map, was the halfway point on the stage line between Pierre and Presho, three or four miles from our claim.

It consisted of the halfway house, which combined the functions of a general store, a post office, a restaurant, and a news center for the whole community with the barns and corrals of the old McClure ranch.