THE JOYS OF CAMP LIFE 



By B. W. KEENE 



O boys ever started 

 on their camping 

 trip, with more 

 ideas on the sub- 

 ject, than John and 

 I. We had read all 

 available books, and 

 had exhausted the 

 patience of any of 

 our friends who had 

 ever camped. One 

 of them told us 

 about a small sheet 

 of water up in the 

 mountains named Dismal Lake. "This 

 lake," said he, "is ten miles from the 

 nearest railroad station ; the scenery is 

 fine, and the hunting and fishing are as 

 good as you'll find in this part of the 

 country. I camped there four years 

 ago. I'll give you a list of the neces- 

 sary articles, enough to last a week, 

 which, when rolled in your blankets, 

 will make two packs, each weighing 

 about twenty pounds. Leave here on 

 the five o'clock train, and you will ar- 

 rive at 'Morris' at nine. You can tramp 

 the ten miles, and be at your destina- 

 tion in time for dinner." 



Eleven o'clock, one pleasant morn- 

 ing later in September, found John 

 and I each with a forty-pound pack on 

 his back, tramping along a dusty road 

 nine miles from Dismal Lake. We had 

 traveled six miles since leaving the 

 train, two hours before. A short dis- 

 tance back, we had been informed that 

 the lake was nine miles from the mill, 

 which we could see just ahead of us. 

 That did not conform with our city 

 friend's idea of distance. He seemed, 

 also, to have been a poor judge of the 

 weight of a pack. We stopped at the 

 miller's house and purchased some 

 sandwiches. After our meal we con- 

 tinued our journey. 



Our course now was a narrow road, 

 winding snake-like up the side of the 

 mountain. South of us, across a deep, 

 thickly wooded valley, through which 

 an invisible stream roared, was the 

 beginning of another range, higher 

 than the one on which we were. Many 

 times during our ascent we halted for 

 rest, or to quench our thirst at one of 

 the numerous little streams that came 

 from the dark recesses of the woods, 

 to our right. 



It was nearly four o'clock when, 

 foot-sore, weary and with aching backs, 

 we reached the summit. When one 

 considers that our packs . weighed 

 nearly a third of our own weight, one 

 can easily imagine our condition. A 

 charcoal-burner's hut marked the end 

 of the wagon road. The occupant, of 

 whom we asked directions, looked at us 

 pityingly, and said : 



"Guess you fellers came far 'nough 

 for one day. Better stay with me to- 

 night ; you'll feel more like walkin' in 

 the mornin'." 



We thanked him, but said we were 

 determined to camp at the lake that 

 night ; at least / said we were, and 

 glanced at John, hoping he'd demur. 

 He did not. Pride is a good thing to 

 have, sometimes. 



"It's a good two mile over there, and 

 there ain't no road ; but if yer bound 

 to go, I'll show yer the way." 



We turned to the left, as our infor- 

 mant directed, and followed a crooked 

 path, obstructed in many places by 

 bowlders and fallen trees, down the 

 side of the mountain. Several times 

 our packs caught on bushes or over- 

 hanging boughs, and we were thrown 

 violently backward. Scratched and 

 bruised, we reached the creek, up which 

 we pursued our way, stepping from 

 stone to stone, or wading in the shal- 



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