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40 
rid miles of impish whimsical Nature 
—1is Bad indeed. 
Nimrod and I had been lured to the 
Cuttle Fish ranch to go on a wolf 
hunt. The house was a large two storey 
affair of logs, with a long tail of one 
storey log outbuildings like a train of 
box cars. We sat down to dinner the 
first night with twenty others, a queer 
lot truly to find in that wild uncivil- 
ised place. There was an ex-mayor 
and his wife from a large Eastern city; 
a United States Senator — the toughest 
of the party — who appeared at table 
in his undershirt; four cowboys, who 
were better mannered than the two 
New York millionaires’ sons who had 
been sent there to spend their college 
vacation and get toughened (the pro- 
cess was obviously succeeding); they 
made Nimrod apologise for keeping 
