FIRST MORNING IN CAMP. 67 



peeping down at me. After I have rubbed the 

 slumber from my eyes sufficient to see, my 

 watch says four o'clock to a dot. My stove 

 (consisting of three pieces of No. 4 wire about 

 fourteen inches in length, four inches of one 

 end of each bent to a right angle, the other end 

 stuck firmly into the ground so that the hori- 

 zontal portions are on a level) is soon in place 

 and on its tripod above a bright flame of small 

 twigs and brush I fry my bacon to a crisp, boil 

 my water fresh from the spring on the hillside 

 and, with an orange as a starter, I sit where 

 man first rested and satisfy my needs. 



It takes time the first morning in camp to 

 put things where they can be readily found. 

 Six o'clock is nearly at hand when with rifle 

 and note-book I saunter up the valley beyond 

 the junction of the brooklets, climb a long slope 

 to the crest of a Knobstone bluff, spread an oil- 

 cloth on the mold yet damp from last night's 

 rain, throw myself down and wait for what may 

 come of interest to record. 



For twenty minutes I have watched a fellow 

 mammal in the valley below me. It is a cotton- 

 tail rabbit which, during that time, has not 

 moved out of its tracks. It has been making 

 its toilet and ever and anon sitting erect and 

 gazing in all directions, the world-fear in its 

 eyes; world-fear of hawk and hound, of sly fox 

 and cunning mink, of creeping snake and the 



