194 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
for them, as the chief had said, and we knew that 
it was all symbolical—that it was life! There rang 
in my brain a fragment of crude verse, penned by a 
former reconnaissance man, that met the mood well: 
“‘You’re sorry,’’ you say, ‘‘the season’s done!’’ 
‘‘Me and you both,’’ I say, replying, 
‘‘For now the leaves are yellow and dying; 
Summer is dead, winter’s begun, 
And summer’s chance companions parted. 
But this is the sure road each man takes; 
This is the law that nature makes; 
Why should we then be broken-hearted ?’’ 
On ‘‘get-a-way day’’ we woke early. Every one 
was excited and in high spirits, now that the actual 
move was upon us. 
Before we left camp we had a grand bonfire of 
old clothes and other articles whose usefulness was 
outworn. Bert rescued a suit of silk pajamas which 
some one had kept closely hidden during the trip, and 
draped them upon ‘‘Babe,’’ the burro colt, of whom 
he had made a pet. 
‘“‘Tt’s the first time he’s been to town,’’ explained 
Bert, ‘‘an’ he’d oughta be dressed up, jest to show 
’em he hain’t ignorant of what’s wore in the fast set 
nowadays.’’ 
Babe’s reluctance to don evening clothes was over- 
come with difficulty but, once attired, he trotted 
proudly to the head of the pack train and kept his 
suit on until he reached the corral in Silver City. 
