The Head, Bob, and Joe had many discussions about it. I do
not recall that my advice was ever asked. It is generally taken for
granted in these wilderness-trips of ours that I will be there, ready to
get a story when the opportunity presents itself.
Owing to the speed with which the North Fork of the Flathead River
descends from the Canadian border to civilization, we had made very good
time. And, at last, the decision was made to try this new adventure.
"It will be a bully story," said the Optimist, "and you can be dead sure
of this: it's never been done before."
So, at last, it was determined, and we set out on that wonderful
harebrain excursion of which the very memory gives me a thrill. Yet, now
that I know it can be done, I may try it again some day. It paid for
itself over and over in scenery, in health, and in thrills. But there
were several times when it seemed to me impossible that we could all get
over the range alive.
We took through thirty-one horses and nineteen people. When we got out,
our horses had had nothing to eat, not a blade of grass or a handful of
grain, for thirty-six hours, and they had had very little for five days.
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