great days and nights along the timber-line. It 

 was ever good to be with these trees in the clear 

 air, up close to the wide and silent sky. Ad- 

 venturers they appeared, strangely wrapped and 

 enveloped in the shifting fog of low-drifting 

 clouds. In the twilight they were always groups 

 and forms of friendly figures, while by moon- 

 light they were just a romantic camp of fra- 

 ternal explorers. 



Many a camp-fire I have had in the alpine 

 outskirts of the forest. I remember especially 

 one night, when I camped alone where pioneer 

 trees, rusty cliffs, a wild lake-shore, and a sub- 

 dued, far-off waterfall furnished sights and 

 sounds as wild as though man had not yet ap- 

 peared on earth. This night, for a time, a cave 

 man directed my imagination, and it ran riot 

 in primeval fields. After indulging these pre- 

 historic visions, I made a great camp-fire with 

 a monumental pile of tree-trunks and limbs on 

 the shore of the lake, close to the cliff. These 

 slow-grown woods were full of pitch, and the 

 fire was of such blazing proportions that it 

 would have caused consternation anywhere in 



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