rid miles of impish whimsical Nature 

 — is Bad indeed. 



Nimrod and I had been lured to the 

 Cuttle Fish ranch to go on a wolf 

 hunt. The house was a large two storey- 

 affair of logs, with a long tail of one 

 storey log outbuildings like a train of 

 box cars. We sat down to dinner the 

 first night with twenty others, a queer 

 lot truly to find in that wild uncivil- 

 ised place. There was an ex-mayor 

 and his wife from a large Eastern city; 

 a United States Senator — the toughest 

 of the party — who appeared at table 

 in his undershirt; four cowboys, who 

 were better mannered than the two 

 New York millionaires' sons who had 

 been sent there to spend their college 

 vacation and get toughened (the pro- 

 cess was obviously succeeding); they 

 made Nimrod apologise for keeping 



^ 



