He stared at our thirty-one horses, sixteen of them packed
with things he had learned to live without. But I think he rather hated
to see us go. We had brought a little excitement into his quiet life.
The first bough bed had been a failure. For--note you--I had not then
learned of the bough bed _de luxe_. This information, which I have given
you so freely, dear reader, what has it not cost me in sleepless nights
and family coldness and aching muscles!
So I find this note in my daily journal, written that day on horseback,
and therefore not very legible:--
Mem: After this, must lie over the camp-ground
until I find a place that fits me to sleep on.
Then have the tent erected over it.
There was a little dissension in the party that morning, Joe having
wakened in the night while being violently shoved out under the edge of
his tent by his companion, who was a restless sleeper. But ill-temper
cannot live long in the open. We settled to the swinging walk of the
trail. In the mountain meadows there were carpets of flowers. They
furnished highly esthetic if not very substantial food for our horses
during our brief rests.
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