PACKHOMSES UNKNOWN 165 



Now and again a prospector may ride into 

 Richfield leading a pack horse, but the younger 

 generation know little of this mode of travel, 

 and northward as one approaches Salt Lake 

 City they know nothing of it whatever. Even 

 the horses shied at Button and his pack and the 

 people — the younger ones — stared at me as 

 they would at a Bedouin in his desert garb, or 

 a curious being of another world. 



I recall one evening particularly that closed 

 a long day's ride over dusty highways, con- 

 stantly dodging flying automobiles. The horses 

 were weary, and I, begrimed with dust, tired 

 and out of patience with the world, was having 

 all I could do to keep the poor animals to a 

 pace above a slow walk, when I met two young 

 cubs, seventeen or eighteen years of age, in a 

 buggy. They had never seen a pack outfit in 

 their tender young lives, but they had seen 

 newspapers and cartoons, and staring at me in 

 open-mouthed astonishment one facetiously ex- 

 claimed: "Hello, Teddy!" They did not laugh 

 or even smile, but maintained serious expres- 

 sions of countenance. Perhaps they thought me 

 The Teddy, wandering unannounced through 

 their country. Neither did I smile nor deign 

 to answer them, though I thought many 

 thoughts uncomplimentary to them, and it is 



