16 RECREATION 

THE CLEVER MOUNTAIN HORSES 
fastened to your belt and the tin spoon in 
your pocket. A cupful of beans devoured, 
you repair to the river to wash your cup. 
Sand and water make a splendid cleanser. 
Then for a cupful of coffee and after that 
probably a cupful of apple sauce and some 
hardtack. If you are particular you wash 
your cup between the last two courses, 
otherwise you let it go. 
I wish I could picture the coloring of the 
country. In the far-away East the moun- 
tains are green. All the country valleys and 
hills are green, all shades and kinds, from 
the light, fresh green of early spring ver- 
dure to the dark, rich shades of the conifers; 
but still all green. The Sierra Mountain 
country in midsummer is a series of gray- 
browns. It impresses you with its dryness. 
You miss the green at first, but soon learn 
to appreciate its absence. It is this very 
dryness that makes everything so_bril- 
liantly clear. It makes the air bracing. 
There is nothing slow, luxurious or en- 
ervating about it. Under- 
foot. is the brown dust, 
without fern or moss, over- 
head the intensely clear and 
brilliantly blue sky. Around 
you the gray-brown rocks, 
bowlders and mountains 
stand out clean and clear- 
cut, with their dazzling 
patches of. snow. The 
gnarled old trees, with their 
lofty, dark green crowns, 
are whispering their dry- 
ness to vagrant ocean 
breezes. Here and _ there, 
scattered over the ground, 
are the mountain flowers, 
gay, vivid spots of color, like 
the bright red snowflowers. . 
Then come days of action and desire 
when you elect to master some snow- 
covered peak. Usually one must make an 
early start. So it is only three o’clock and 
very dark when one of the men gives the 
familiar ‘‘jodel.”” You tumble out of your 
sleeping-bag, half awake, and gather with 
the others shivering around the fire. A 
Chinaman is stirring a pot of half-cooked 
rice. Queer, indeed sorry-looking, objects 
you are.. Here is a woman in overalls. It 
is to be a hard, stiff climb and no skirts are 
allowed. The women usually prefer bloom- 
ers, but this one has a passion for overalls, 
and rolled high above her ankles at that. 
Her face is covered with powder, and her 
head is carefully swathed in a green mos- 
quito-netting veil. This is to protect her 
from sunburn. The men’s faces are cov- 
ered with blacking from the bottom of 
cooking-pots, to protect them from snow- 
burn also. One man looks like a negro 
who has attempted to scrub himself white 
and only succeeded in one or two spots. 
You line up and call out your numbers,and 
off you start, single file. The sun is just 
beginning to peep over the.mountain you 
are to climb, which looms like a great 
snow-covered giant in front of you. 
An hour passes, and now the mountain 
is lost sight of, as you push on up through 
the few remaining stunted trees. After 
every pull of ten or fifteen minutes there is a 
pause for breath, and there is much friendly 
chaffing along the line. Soon you are above 

PART OF THE PACK TRAIN 
