SEPTEMBER 55 



iiig through the open doors at the farther end, one 

 views the prairie landscape like a framed picture. 

 But the foreground is dramatic rather than pic- 

 torial, for cavalrymen are training their horses 

 there. The government nniles serve for the mow- 

 ing machines, but these nobler animals are learn- 

 ing to lie down at command, to hear without alarm 

 the close report of a pistol, to carry double, to re- 

 main lying quiet when another horse and rider ap- 

 proach at a gallop. This sunny morning the rid- 

 ing hall itself is deserted, save for one young sol- 

 dier training his horse to take the hurdles without 

 shying. Over and over the performance was 

 urged, encouraged by the rider's strong pull at the 

 bits, by curses, and now and then by caressing of 

 the tossing head and shivering neck. These were 

 scenes of strenuous activity, but not far beyond 

 the hall is an old orchard, a reposeful relic of the 

 days when the grounds belonged to individuals — 

 men of peace. 



McGregor, September 9, 1908. 

 A few days ago we camped — in a hotel — at 

 Clear Lake. Thence we marched — by train — 

 about thirty-seven parasangs, to the borders of the 

 Father of Waters. The route lay through the 

 southern part of Winneshiek County, whose cap- 

 ital, Decorah, has no small reputation for land- 

 scape beauty. The county contains other post- 

 offices with picturesque names — Burroak, Bluff- 



