138 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



now that would make even a fair substitute. At 

 noon we suffered most. We were accustomed to 

 take with us only a couple of jam sandwiches, but 

 though the amount of lunch was small, we missed it 

 greatly, and scarcely ate the bread and bacon we 

 tried instead. 



At last we left Palomas and moved north again 

 to Morgan Creek. This was a small stream in a 

 narrow, rocky canyon, that drained about the rough- 

 est and wildest patch of country we had seen. But 

 we went at it hopefully for we could see from the 

 ridge the goal of our present ambition, the boundary 

 line which marks the northern limit of the Gila and 

 the beginning of the Datil National Forest. 



In less than a week we were through. Tired in 

 muscles and in nerves, weak from overwork, insuffi- 

 cient food and the heat, we still felt cheerful for 

 the east side was done. During the last few days 

 we worked on bacon and beans, but did not much 

 care. We had completed, we knew, a difficult task, 

 asking no odds of circumstances, and we jubilated 

 feebly but wholeheartedly at its conclusion. 



And when we hit the long trail to the top, when, 

 as we ascended, the grateful coolness of the air from 

 the heights struck our faces, when a little later we 

 smelled again the damp, delicious odour of the firs 

 and entered the soft twilight of the heavy forest, we 

 breathed a huge breath of relief. The change had 

 the refreshing quality of a bath after a wrestling 

 bout, of rain following a long dry spell. 



