ON TOP AGAIN 139 



Our week's holiday on top for such it seemed 

 though we worked steadily on our maps did us all 

 a world of good. We were camped on a little rise 

 at the very summit of the range in a pretty grove 

 of aspen. The camp spring was at the head of a 

 tiny draw, which, growing larger and ever larger 

 in its winding descent formed finally the Black 

 Eiver, one of the largest and most picturesque 

 streams of the west side. 



These surroundings, after our recent debilitating 

 environment, seemed ideal. The days were clear 

 and cool, the nights distinctly chilly. We needed all 

 our blankets to keep warm, but the change had the 

 effect of making us sleep like dead men, to awake 

 each morning vastly refreshed and half famished. 



The question of food, however, became rather 

 serious. The packers left for supplies as soon as 

 camp was made, but we were nearly out of chuck 

 then and a week is a long fast when one is as hungry 

 as we were. The situation was aggravated by the 

 fact that the woods around us swarmed with wild 

 turkey. Every morning we were awakened by the 

 "ob-bullob-bullob-bulloble" which proclaimed their 

 proximity. 



One morning, as we came out of our tents, we 

 were just in time to see Bert taking careful aim with 

 a 22 rifle at some dark body in a fir not ten yards 

 from the cook tent. Before he could shoot a flock 

 of at least ten turkeys, alarmed by our movements, 

 flew out of the tree and disappeared in the forest. 



