Grandma knew the river would be high. The snowpack was still melting even in mid-July. The ranchers in the valley would be wearing grins like hogs at a slop bucket as they saw their pastures and hayfields sprout with the bounty from the San Juans. She always had water for her own herd and hay crop, since grandpa had dug a ditch from Devil’s Creek to fill a couple of large ponds on the upper and lower pastures. Devil’s Creek never dried up – Charles had picked the right spot for his ranch and worked hard to make a go of it.