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saddles of the proud young hunters. 

 We stopped at the lake long enough to 

 take a dozen good-sized turtles from the 

 nets. 



When we reached our camp at nearly 

 midnight, we found that Archie had not 

 returned. Even the men looked con- 

 cerned. 



"Let's have a cup of coffee, then I'll 

 snatch a little sleep and start out to look 

 for him," Carl said. - 



We were too tired to do any cooking, 

 although our fare that day had been 

 very frugal. We made some coffee, ate 

 what was left of our liver and bacon of 

 the morning, and rolled into our 

 blankets. 



It seemed scarcely an hour when we 

 were awakened by a rifle shot, a shout, 

 and the deep voice of Carl singing, "Lo, 

 the Conquering Hero Comes!" We 

 opened our sleep-laden eyes to see Carl 

 ushering into camp a pale-faced, sheep- 

 ish-looking youth in whom, despite the 

 stains of travel, we recognized our "ten- 

 der-foot." 



"I found him wandering around in a 

 circle about five hundred yards from the 

 trail," the rescuer said mercilessly. "He 

 had evidently been playing 'merry-go- 

 round' for the past twenty-four hours, 

 with short intermissions for sleep and 

 grape-nuts." 



At breakfast Archie instructed us in 

 the lore of rattlesnake-hunting, a knowl- 

 edge gained while on this latest pil- 

 grimage. 



"Never trust a rattler's tail," he said 

 wisely, "as their heads are apt to be 



close by. I saw a fine fellow in the 

 grass and took a shot at him. He ran 

 down a hole, but left his rattles sticking 

 out. I pulled out my knife and was 

 just going to cut them off, when out 

 came his head alongside his tail. It was 

 a narrow escape." 



I must not leave out that breakfast, 

 a meal worthy of the most fastidious 

 epicure. It lasted well into the morn- 

 ing, and its memory is with us still, and 

 a comfortable memory, too. 



The artist in the party had decorated 

 the cloth with wild vines and flowers. 

 It was edged with the bright green ch'il- 

 acote, and at each corner was a grace- 

 ful bunch of tiger-lilies, yellow, black- 

 speckled beauties. In the center was a 

 roast of venison from the Dutch oven, 

 and clustered around it the quail, stuffed 

 with pancake crumbs and larded with 

 strips of bacon. A dish of crisply-fried 

 frog legs served as a companion piece. 

 At each plate was a cup of steaming 

 turtle soup, terrapin if you buy it in 

 San Francisco or New York. The veg- 

 etables were tomatoes and corn, and for 

 bread we had a concoction of flour, 

 water and baking-powder, fried in lard, 

 called "dough-boys," the recipe of which 

 had been given us by our host, and 

 which proved a most palatable substi- 

 tute for raised bread. 



We reclined on our leafy couches like 

 the Romans of old, the fragrance of the 

 firs in our nostrils, the song of robins 

 and orioles in our'ears, and a soft breeze 

 in our faces ; a stately banqueting hall 

 in nature's majestic palace. . 



