The White Goat and his Country 
there was plenty of wood, and on the ground 
only such siftings of snow as could be swept 
clean for the tent. The saddles were piled 
handily under a tree, a good fireplace was 
dug, we had a comfortable supper; and 
nothing remained but that the goats should 
be where they ought to be—on the ridges 
above the park. 
I have slept more soundly; doubt and hope 
kept my thoughts active. Yet even so, it was 
pleasant to wake in the quiet and hear the 
bell on our horse, Duster, occasionally tankle 
somewhere on the hill. My watch I had for- 
gotten to place at T ’s disposal, so he was 
reduced to getting the time of day from the 
stars. He consulted the Great Bear, and see- 
ing this constellation at an angle he judged 
to indicate five o’clock, he came back into the 
tent, and I heard him wake the cook, who 
crawled out of his blankets. 
“Why, it’s plumb night,” the cook whined. 
‘Make the breakfast,” said T ; 
I opened my eyes, and shut them imme- 
diately in despair at the darkness that I saw. 
Presently I heard the fire and the pans, and 
knew that the inevitable had come. So I got 
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