Land Of The Burnt Thigh

A passage from the book... At sunset we came up out of the draw to the crest of the ridge. Perched on the high seat of the old spring wagon, we looked into a desolate land which reached to the horizon on every side. Prairie which had lain untouched since the Creation save for buffalo and roving bands of Indians, its brown grass scorched and crackling from the sun. No trees to break the endless monotony or to provide a moment's respite from the sun.The driver, sitting stooped over on the front seat, half asleep, straightened up and looked around, sizing up the vacant prairie."Well," he announced, "I reckon this might be it."But this couldn't be it. There was nothing but space, and [2]sun-baked plains, and the sun blazing down on our heads. My sister pulled out the filing papers, looking for the description the United States Land Office had given her: Section 18, Range 77W-about thirty miles from Pierre, South Dakota."Three miles from the buffalo waller," our driver said, mumbling to himself, ignoring the official location and looking back as though measuring the distance with his eye. "Yeah, right in here-somewhere."