First, it would not make a good story. Second, we had nothing
but riding-clothes, and ours were only good to ride in and not at all to
walk about in.
After a long and serious conclave, it was decided that Glacier Park
would not suffer by the absence of our string for twenty-four hours
more.
On the following morning, then, we set off down the white and dusty
road, a gay procession, albeit somewhat ragged. Sixteen miles in the
heat we rode that morning. It was when we were halfway there that one of
the party--it does not matter which one--revealed that he had received a
telegram from the Government demanding the immediate return of our
outfit. We halted in the road and conferred.
It is notorious of Governments that they are short-sighted, detached,
impersonal, aloof, and haughty. We gathered in the road, a gayly
bandanaed, dusty, and highly indignant crowd, and conferred.
The telegram had been imperative. It did not request. It commanded. It
unhorsed us violently at a time when it did not suit either ourselves or
our riding-clothes to be unhorsed.
We conferred.
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