Vol. XC JULY, 1920 No. 7 
THROUGH THE ROCKIES IN A MOTOR 
BY SUBSTITUTING AN AUTOMOBILE FOR A PACK TRAIN A GREAT DEAL 
OF INTERESTING COUNTRY CAN BE COVERED IN A SHORT VACATION 
O N a certain sultry afternoon, in a 
little room in a large city in the 
Ohio valley, a department of the 
Government was engaged in collecting the 
facts pertaining to a problem of com- 
merce. Outside, the merciless sun beat 
against white walls and stone pavements ; 
hardly a breath of air relieved the dull- 
ing atmosphere of the room. 
The men,* endeavoring to solve the 
problem, sat coatless around big tables, 
handkerchief in one hand, mopping per- 
spiration; pencil in the other, writing re- 
minders. They were veritably earning 
their bread by the sweat of their brows. 
Others were handling the laboring oars 
at this session; I was merely an observ- 
ing passenger. 
As witnesses listlessly droned immate- 
rial details, my mind wandered far be- 
yond the horizon. Visions of mountain 
ranges with snowy summits, down which 
tumbled streams of cold, clear, white 
waters rose before me. I thought of the 
bracing air, so invigorating to tired na- 
ture; of elk, feeding at the timber line 
in the early morning; of mallards, splash- 
ing in the cool marshes ; of the lusty 
trout, flashing in the sunlight; of the 
swirl in the water, as they seized their 
prey and darted away. 
Later in the day, as I rode up the 
Scioto Valley in the twilight, the great 
fields of corn, waving in the breeze, were 
like an inland sea. How father loved 
that Scioto Valley; my love is no less. 
It is the hot, sultry days and nights of 
'Southern Ohio that make possible the 
extensive cornfields of the Scioto Valley. 
Nature does things in an economical 
•way. Heat and humidity are blessings 
’bestowed upon the earth. These were my 
thoughts, as the speed of the motor car 
produced a refreshing breeze and an ex- 
Mliration that was delightful. 
Why not journey to the “land of the 
setting sun,” and see the Rockies from a 
motor car? Why not substitute a skidding 
motor for a bucking broncho? A trunk 
rack for a pack horse? And thus was 
my vacation planned and carried out. 
By HENRY BANNON 
Many a mile, dusty in the sun, muddy 
in the rain, separates Ohio from Mon- 
tana. Why idle time, motoring through 
lands that do not interest one? Through 
cities, where motor cops oppress the 
stranger within their gates? Thus ’mind- 
ed, I concluded to go by train to Butte, 
Montana; there, purchase a motor car, 
and enjoy a real vacation. 
The best thing in Chicago is the trans- 
continental train for the West. As the 
train glided from the city to the 
hospitable country, a feeling of relaxation 
A mountain stream in Montana 
and of rest came over one weary passen- 
ger. Cornfields, wheatlands, grazing 
ranges, succeeded each other, as differ- 
ences in latitude and altitude dictated the 
products of the soil. It seemed as if the 
bountiful bosom of old mother earth 
had yielded to her children enough and 
to spare. 
At last, came the desert fields of sage- 
brush among the mountains, and the city 
of Butte. Here I met Jim Blair by 
appointment; and together we arranged 
for a vacation trip. He has hunted with 
the Bannon boys for more than twenty- 
five years and knows every trail in Mon- 
tana and Wyoming. I have never seen 
him lost in the mountains; though, upon 
two or three occasions, I have seen him 
hesitate. In that respect he is like 
Daniel Boone. The latter was asked 
whether he was ever lost in the wilder- 
ness. “No, sir, I never was lost,” said 
Boone, “but once I was bewildered for 
four days.” 
After we had breakfast, the search for 
a motor car began. First, we visited the 
second-hand shops. Cars of every make, 
but of uncertain vintage, were found in 
numbers. Some were equipped with tires 
that were threadbare ; others bore the evi- 
dences of having been in a wreck. Each 
exhibited, somewhere, between radiator 
and rear axle, the unmistakable reason 
for its presence in a junk shop. We 
finally bought a new car that we might 
ourselves enjoy the best weeks of its 
life. Then, we purchased the necessary 
extras, a trunk rack to carry the tent, a 
running board rack for the duffle bags, 
shock absorbers, extra tire and tube, tire 
chains, a canvas water bucket with which 
to replenish a boiling radiator, a gallon 
of engine oil, and five gallons of gasoline 
for emergencies. These, with a few cook- 
ing utensils, ham, bacon, flour, oatmeal, 
butter, sugar, tea, canned milk, and 
cream completed the outfit. 
W E left Butte about noon and trav- 
eled up a valley, over a straight, 
smooth, well-kept road. There 
was nothing of interest along the way, 
other than the various roadhouses that 
flourished when Butte saw better, or 
worse, days, depending upon one’s view- 
point respecting certain sumptuary leg- 
islation. The car ran true to form and 
tradition. The mental state produced, by 
the engine’s steady operation was higher 
than mere satisfaction ; we had a sense of 
pride in our possession. This mental ele- 
vation, however, was only temporary; for 
the ascent of the Continental divide, over 
