THE PLANT WORLD. 35 



Slioshone Indians which once watched the writer at work with undis- 

 guised interest and who were easily persuaded, l)v my fellow camper, 

 that I was a great "medicine man"". 



The collecting case as already stated is incomprehensible. The 

 writer's, an unusually large one, has l)een mistaken at times for a 

 •'water-tank"\ an "oil-can'' (for samples), a "gas-tank" (for supplying 

 the CO> for soda fountains) and, lastly, for a mail bag (my assistant 

 carrying it. on a recent trip in Yellowstone Park, was innocently asked 

 by a tourist how often he took up the mail. ) 



If the I'dxouiiiiii is misunderstood, what shall be said of the driers? 

 Our first camp in the Yellowstone Park was pounced upon by one of 

 the mounted guards as follows: "Pick up all those papers that you have 

 thrown out here''. "Yes sir, as soon as they are dry". Questions 

 now followed from him. These same driers were a source of much 

 wonder throughout the season, especially to the tourists in the Park 

 (may they not be taken as representative Americans?). Some thought 

 that they were used under the camp beds; others said, "I see that you 

 are photographers", and one wondered what we were doing with so 

 much ''•fly paper". One intelligent tourist watched, for some time, my 

 assistant collecting a small, bright-colored flower {Ennanui^ nanus) and 

 then astonished him with, "Do you use those for tish-bait?" 



But if one thing is more annoying than another it is to be mis- 

 taken for a peddler. In a certain Wyoming town, while going from 

 the hotel to the neighboring hills, I noticed myself curiously watched 

 h\ the cit}' marshal. The following day this individual stopped me 

 and made known the fact, that peddling without a license was not 

 allowed. My aggravating smile which followed brought the explana- 

 tion that he had seen me go through the town several times and could 

 think of nothing else that 1 could be doing. The next instance, in 

 another town, I rather enjoyed. I was resting for a moment, on the 

 curb-stone at the town pump, after a long tramp, my laden case across 

 my knees. A citizen watering his horse at the trough, after eyeing me 

 for some moments, queried, "What are you selling?" "Nothing". 

 "Canvassing?" "No sir". Another pause, during which said citizen 

 expressed in his countenance his inquisitiveness and finally his disgust 

 at my indiff"erence, was broken with, "Well, I just thought I would 

 warn you that no peddling was allowed without a license". "Thank 

 you". With a vicious cut from his quirt he sent his horse flying down 

 the street. 



