HITTING THE TRAIL 



Tuesday the twenty-ninth. 



This was the great day. "You first, Jim," the colonel's 

 voice commanded, in the sleeping tent at daybreak. "You hit 

 the hay first last night." A frosty morning, a clear sun moving 

 through barred clouds, and a gentle wind from the southwest 

 promised a splendid day for the trip at hand. The artist, medi- 

 tative at breakfast, the matutinal cigarette thoughtfully poised 

 in his fingers, received yet another reminder of the urgency of 

 the day's business. "Start to eating. We've got to knock this 

 tent down pretty soon." 



Promptly after breakfast camp impedimenta was brought 



forth from the tents, per- 

 sonal belongings packed, 

 bedding rolled and tents 

 struck. In rolling a pack 

 of bedding William showed 

 himself an adept, distribut- 

 ing folds and thicknesses of 

 material, wrapping, rolling, 

 and cording it away with a 

 mastery and finished crafts- 

 manship that betrayed the 

 man of many pack trails. 

 In the course of forming 

 one masterly pack, he took 

 occasion to emphasize to 

 the artist the importance 

 of laying blankets with the 

 folds alternate, in order to 

 produce an even roll, otherwise they would, rolling on the 

 folds, produce a "conical cone." Pack and saddle animals were 

 brought up and saddled, slickers tied, rifle scabbards hitched to 

 saddle bows, and leaving the guides, with an extra packer 

 who came into camp the night before, to attend to the busi- 

 ness of loading the camp kit on the pack animals, and the heavy 



Last dispatches 



Page 76 



