TWO CASUAL DAYS 



Wednesday the twenty-third. 



This day was fair and warm, positively hot at noonday, after 

 a frosty fog in the early morning. 



After breakfast the two sportsmen went to rifle practice and 

 adjustment of sights. The marksmen were amusedly embar- 

 rassed by the excited interest of the artist, who with a pair of field 

 glasses, in their rear, tried to keep tab on shots and call points, 

 such as were made, for them. A heat haze rising from the prairie 

 made the target, a sheet of paper with a three-inch bull's-eye and 

 a ten-inch outer circle, at two hundred yards, waver visibly, making 

 accurate sighting a difficult proposition. 



In the afternoon, the artist, with Fred, walked to Grayling 

 postoffice, a mile or so northeast over the prairie, and at the 

 entrance of Red canyon, for so is the great opening in the northern 

 hills named, up which, in a few days more, it is announced, the 

 party will journey over the trail to Tepee basin, fifteen hundred 

 feet higher up. 



Grayling postoffice, so named from the fish found plentifully 

 in the nearby river, is a small 

 log building with a tarred felt 

 roof, standing in the dooryard of 

 Peter Kerzenmacher. The 

 postmaster, Peter, is of German 

 birth, twenty-four years in this 

 country and this particular 

 section, a heavy set but active 

 man. He is dark and slow 

 spoken, with an illuminating 

 smile and a handgrip that in- 

 spires utter confidence in him 

 as a solid rock of friendly de- 

 pendability. 



The first representative of 

 the Kerzenmacher establish- 

 ment, official and otherwise, "Peter" 



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