July, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
395 
of sixty-odd summers, and a good sport, 
although it was his first trip into the moun¬ 
tains. We had likewise the vice president 
of a railroad as aforesaid—about as near 
unlike what you think a vice president of 
a railroad is as anything you ever saw. 
We had the editor of a national monthly 
which has just hit upon the pleasant idea 
of calling its galley list of subscribers a 
“Society.” I was very proud when I found 
I could break into this list with two dol¬ 
lars. Still, he wasn’t proud, although his 
society' of select souls runs two or three 
hundred thousand. He likewise had never 
been -west of the Mississippi River, and 
didn’t really know that geography ran so 
far west. Then we had a member of the 
State Board of Control of California— 
which I never knew before had any con¬ 
trol at all; and a State Engineer of that 
State, and another engineer from Hew 
York, and the private secretary to the As¬ 
sistant to the Secretary, and likewise a 
paleontologist of international fame and a 
long connection with the Metropolitan Mu¬ 
seum of New York. Likewise we had an 
illustrated lecturer, a moving picture man, 
and an ex-minister, who was also an author ; 
although these last three were obliged to 
leave after a day or two in camp. Also 
we had the editor of a Visalia newspaper, 
who went along to see that we did not re¬ 
move any of the scenery. Add to this a 
bunch of hard cow punchers, 
packers, and others, and you 
have the ingredients for almost 
anything y r ou like. Naturally 
any'one accustomed to live in 
camp with large parties would 
suppose that here was the set¬ 
ting for a drama of crime— 
murder, mutiny, and all unkind¬ 
ness. How'ever, au contraire, as 
we say in Chicago, there never 
was a pleasanter party out of 
doors, and all of the things 
which might have happened did 
not happen at all. 
True, once in a while some¬ 
thing would occur to liven up 
matters. For instance, one 
mule walking along on the trail 
which ascends the steep moun¬ 
tain side—the said mule being 
fast asleep, as they nearly al¬ 
ways are in a pack train—in its 
trance walked directly off the 
trail and fell 200 feet down the 
mountain side, including in its 
descent a crate of apples and 
cantaloupes. How it happened 
no one can tell, but the mule 
escaped with a slight abrasion 
on its nose, and a few slight ab¬ 
rasions on the cantaloupes. Dis¬ 
covering it was anchored by a 
tree on the mountain side, it 
groaned, walked up to its place 
in the train, and calmly went to 
sleep again. You cannot really 
hurt a mule very much. They 
have the best disposition there is. 
The best thing about a mule 
is his versatility. He has what 
is known as a flexible motor of 
two speeds, and uses no strainer 
3n his gasoline. Thus one day 
it lunch we observed my 
nule Mike looking at us 
with an expression of mingled disap¬ 
pointment and longing on his counten¬ 
ance. It was an easy guess that he desired 
something to eat, like the rest of us, so we 
tried him with things that the rest of us 
were enjoying. Mike with much gusto 
then and there devoured three kinds of 
preserves, abundant bread and butter and 
some toast, half a can of sardines, half a 
pound of cake, some ripe olives and some 
green ones, and some breakfast bacon. We 
tried him then on roast beef, and found he 
would eat it, although he was not so avid 
about that as he was regarding certain 
other things—but we believe that was only 
because we had served his roast beef in 
the form of dessert. We made him a very 
nice salad out of leaves from all of the 
trees which stood about us, and in fact 
never found anything which he would not 
eat. I believe he liked Roquefort cheese 
and sardines better than almost anything 
else. I am convinced that mules never 
have attained the station in life which be¬ 
longs to them. There ought to be a 
Society for Sardines for Destitute Mules. 
This would engage the ambition of a lot 
of our enthusiastic ladies. 
1 FEAR that Mr. Bradford Marshall, ex¬ 
ecutive officer of the Mather Expedi¬ 
tion to Mount Whitney, was guilty of 
forgetting to read in the handbooks of ex¬ 
pert outfitters all the usual instructions 
about going light. We did not go light. 
We had a fourteen-foot table, two cook 
stoves, complete table silver, napkins, and 
everything else according. We had fresh 
eggs every day, fresh cantaloupes for sev¬ 
eral days, fresh oranges, lemons, and 
everything else you could think of, beside 
the usual staples. 
\\ e even had a doctor along—and you 
would think from the equipment that a 
doctor would be needed. Our doctor was 
a Vienna graduate who lives in Sacra¬ 
mento, a very able gentleman. He started 
in on the trip with a bright and cheerful 
countenance, but at the close of it he was 
the saddest man you ever saw. On a mule 
of his own he carried a complete modern 
surgical outfit, including a hospital with 
antiseptic operating chair, anesthetic appli¬ 
ances, a glass case of tools for everything 
you can think of, and a well equipped drug 
store with large red and green lights, 
which was set up every night ready for 
business. 
But no business came. Often I have 
seen Doctor S-standing leaning against 
the trunk of a tree, his strong bosom torn 
with sobs. “Look at ’em—look at ’em eat. 
Sick—sick? Do they look it?” Then he 
would shed burning tears. He was ready 
at any time to cut off somebody’s leg, but 
everybody was so busy at something else 
beside getting fractures or 
bruises that the poor doctor left 
us with a broken heart—he 
hadn’t had anything to do. 
There was another and dis¬ 
tinguished member of our party 
of whom not so much could be 
said. I refer to Ty Sing, the 
cook. Probably you never heard 
of Ty Sing, but that is because 
you do not know much about 
your country. Ty Sing is the 
best trail cook on the surface of 
the earth today. He has been 
in the Geographical Survey ser¬ 
vice for twenty-odd years, and 
there is nothing like him. Ty 
Sing is a short haired China¬ 
man, a useful man, and a good 
citizen. He has self respect, 
speaks perfect English, and ex¬ 
pects you to use English in 
talking to him. Ty Sing is a 
man without a country. He was 
born in Nevada City fifty-odd 
years ago, but although it is per¬ 
fectly apparent that he was 
born somewhere, there is no¬ 
body alive in the world who can 
prove it. He ought to be, and 
practically is, an American 
citizen, and a good one, yet he 
cannot vote. Neither can he go 
back to China, and be a Chinese 
citizen. Hence, being unable to 
be either American or Chinese, 
he annexed himself to the Geo¬ 
graphical Survey. If anything 
should happen to Ty Sing I 
think the United States would 
go out of business in that de¬ 
partment. 
Ty Sing and his assistant, 
Eugene, are another part of the 
best system in climbing Mount 
Whitney. True, they make you 
