CHAPTER IV. 



MEDITATIONS IN A WICIUP. 



PHILOSOPHY IN A TENT "ME T-R-R-RUSTY RIFUL " AWAY FROM THE 

 ILLS OF LIFE ELK-HEART AND HARD TACK FOR BREAKFAST THE 

 PERORATION OF A DONKEY'S BRAY WAPITI WINDS HIS HORN 

 THE MONARCH OF THE ROCKIES DIES AS A KING SHOULD DIE. 



I ARRIVED at the seat of war about five o'clock, stretched 



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my canvas across a washout, cut boughs and stood them up 

 around three sides of it, and threw down a lot for a bed, 

 built a rousing fire against a big rock in front of it, got up a 

 supply of wood sufficient to keep it burning all night, and 

 then crawled into my wiciup to meditate. 



Now, thought I, this isn't so bad after all. Some folks 

 might think it was, but it isn't. The wood is wet, to be sure, 

 but by keeping plenty of it on it burns tolerably well. These 

 bushes under me are wet, but I have spread my rubber coat 

 over them, and that keeps the dampness from coming through 

 and wetting me. Besides, my clothes are so wet that they 

 couldn't get any wetter if I were to sleep in Lake Michigan ; 

 so what does it matter if my other surroundings are wet? 

 Besides they are drying rapidly under the influence of this 

 rousing fire. It is still raining steadily, but my little pup 

 tent keeps it off. The night is cold, but if my back gets cold 

 while my face is toward the fire I can turn over and warm 

 my back. Some people might feel lonely out here, four 

 miles from camp, and in a neck of woods that is full of 

 bears and other frisky varmints, but I have " me t-r-r-rusty 

 riful " with me, as the dizzy actor would say; besides, 

 wild varmints are not apt to approach a fire. The carcases 



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