200 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



grub. When Charlie and I tramped in at one o'clock, 

 on account of the rain, the others were all there, and for 

 the remainder of the afternoon we snugged down under 

 the three big spruces that formed a triangle around our 

 camp-fire, and loafed, and invited our souls. 



Were I to hunt a thousand years longer, I think it 

 would be impossible to find a more ideal camping-spot 

 than that which Mr. Phillips named in my honor. The 

 shelter of the beautiful grove of spruces, the magnifi- 

 cent mountains within a stone's throw on either hand, 

 the long-distance view down the valley to Roth Moun- 

 tain and Glacier, the slides, the vegetation of timber- 

 line, the water, the wild life, and last but not least, the 

 grass for our faithful, never-running-away horses made 

 a combination of conditions rarely found in this world. 



To me, the pace set by our chef was highly amusing. 

 Never before have I camped with a cook who took his 

 job as seriously as did Huddleston. To begin with, he 

 was young and vigorous, accustomed to hard work, and 

 there was not a shirking bone in his body. He rose in 

 the morning, he cooked meals, he washed things, hewed 

 wood and drew water as if his life depended upon the 

 perfect doing of each section of his daily work. The 

 amount of food that he cooked on his folding stove, and 

 the quantity of bread that he baked before our camp- 

 fire in his jolly little reflector-oven, was simply appall- 

 ing. I used to think that my band of rustlers on the 

 1886 buffalo hunt ate the most of any human beings I 

 ever camped with; but on this last trip, the crowd ate 

 more. No doubt it was because we had a greater variety, 



