420 
offices of drunk znd disorderly persons, 
Cherry meanwhile laconically expressing 
a doubt as to the postmaster’s véracity, the 
colonel serving as a court of appellate 
jurisdiction. 
Finally the major, to floor his persecu- 
tor once for all, said: “Bill Dawson, git 
yer book o’ rules.” The postmaster did 
so. “What do ’ey say about bein’ drunk 
on top: ‘er ofucer™: 
“Nothing is said about that,” replied the 
postmaster. 
“Well, then, w’at yer talking ’bout; they 
ain't no rule can touch me; I’m on the 
roof o’ yer office.’ The mystery was ex- 
plained; the trunk was the postoffice. 
They were boon companions, a conviv- 
ial trio, and I wondered at the chance that 
had brought them together. According 
to their statements, the colonel, after serv- 
ing in the Confederate army as a scout, 
had followed the life of a “hustler” in 
several of the mining towns of the West; 
Major Cherry had been an engineer in 
the construction of the Hudson river 
railroad, afterward drifting into the min- 
ing districts; and Dawson had once held 
a lucrative position on a Liverpool-Calcut- 
ta steamer. What circumstance of love, 
fortune or adventure had shaped the 
course .of each till, on this Christmas eve, 
we found them established in a cabin in 
the mountains? 
With thoughts of this nature, we crawled 
up stairs to bed aiter hanging up our 
socks back of the stove, not on account of 
Christmas traditions, but because they 
were wet. The other occupants of the 
cabin were left to their own Christmas 
cheer. Every sound came up through the 
loose board floor, but we were tired and 
soon fell asleep. They must have over- 
flowed in the exuberance of “‘spirits,”’ for 
later on we were awakened by a pistol- 
shot, and when I expressed a query as to 
what was going on,.my companion drowsi- 
ly replied that:they were probably shoot- 
ing at the knot-holes in the ceiling, and 
turning over went to sleep. I was dis- 
gusted with his small regard for human 
life and spent an hour of wakefulness, try- 
ing to make out the words of the song 
that staggered up from below, and won- 
dering how we wouldbetter spend the next 
day in case we had no engagement with 
the coroner. 
Nearly all Christendom had expressed 
good will to men before we arose the next 
morning; at least the late riser on the 
Pacific coast may be reasonablv sure of 
being one of the last with his “Merry 
Christmas.” 
Before we sat down to breakfast we no- 
ticed a skiff coming across the lake, and 
while we were eating, 3 ranchers came to 
the cabin. One intimated the possibility 
RECREATION. 
of there being a letter for him, but the 
others gave no excuse for calling. I 
wondered at it, but my partner, who was 
quite philosophical, explained it thus: 
“You see, in the woods, and especially in 
mountainous regions, the air is so pure 
that the least odor is noticeable at a great 
distance, and the sense of smell is very 
acute. A wolf will detect a carcass miles 
away; throw a few salmon on the bank of 
a river and a bear will soon find them.” 
Still I did not comprehend and he added: 
“Well, remain in the vicinity of that demi- 
john and before noon you will have a 
more complete census of this region than 
the government got in 1890.” 
Owing to the fact that we had slept late 
and would not be able to reach our next 
stopping place before dark, we concluded 
to stay one day at the lake. True to my 
companion’s prediction, we were able to 
see most of the inhabitants living within 
a_hali-day’s journey of Hardin’s cabin. 
Next morning we started early and 
canoed to the upper end of the lake, which 
extends II miles in an irregular curve to 
the South and West. It is entirely shut in 
by mountains which slope from its very 
shore to a height of 3,000 or 4,000 feet, the 
highest being the “Storm King,” on the 
East side. As the sun rose, lighting the 
peaks to the West and finally bursting 
into full splendor above the crest of the 
Storm King, we agreed that it was the 
grandest picture we had ever seen. 
From the head of the lake we struck off 
on the trail which, after 7 miles of twist- 
ing and turning, rising and falling, 
brought us to the Solduck river, the up- 
per course of the Quillayute. The trail 
led through giant firs, spruce, and oc- 
casional cedars, and across numerous lit- 
tle streams which laughingly invited us 
to refreshment. Our packs were not 
above 30 pounds each; there was no snow 
on this part of the trail and“tramping was 
easy. Those who are accustomed to 
mountain excursions know the exhilara- 
tion and pleasure we experienced. 
After striking the Solduck, we found 
plenty of snow, and progress was slower, 
but we were near the end of the day’s 
journey. Two miles up the river we came 
out into a little clearing, where a brook 
joins the larger stream, and in the fork 
formed by them at the foot of a large cot- 
tonwood. was the cabin of an old Nor- 
wegian. It was dusk when we crossed the 
brook, and rapped at the cabin door. Old 
Iver gave us a hearty welcome and be- 
fore the informal introduction was over 
began preparing us a supper of venison, 
potatoes and coffee, while we shed our 
packs -and surveyed our surroundings. 
How long since you, who read this, 
have been in one of these 12x14 cabins, 

