CHAPTER XL 



HAD left my bedding at the Hot Springs 

 Hotel, and returning to get it staid there 

 all night. Early next morning (Friday, 

 November 12) we crossed Harrison Lake, 

 in a drenching rain, to the foot of a high 

 mountain, about two miles from the 

 springs, on which Pean, Captain George, 

 and other Indians said there were plenty 

 of goats. We beached our canoe, and 

 made up packs for the climb up the 

 mountain. The outfit consisted of our guns, my 

 sleeping-bag, Pean's gun and blankets, a few sea 

 biscuits, a piece of bacon, and some salt. 



My sleeping-bag was wrapped up in a piece of 

 canvas, and when I handed it to Pean, he commenced 

 to unroll it to put his blankets in with it, but I 

 objected. Visions of the insects with which I knew 

 his bedding was inhabited rose up before me. I 

 thought of the rotary drill, key-hole saw, and suction 

 pump with which they are said to be armed, and 

 I did not want any of them in my bag. So I 

 unrolled the canvas only a part of its length, laid his 

 blankets in and rolled it up again, hoping the remain- 

 ing folds might prevent the vermin from finding 

 their way in, and my reckoning proved correct. 

 One of his blankets had been white in its day, but 

 had long since lost its grip on that color, and was 



7 (97) 



