on the rented farm who is raising corn at
fifteen cents per bushel to pay interest on a mortgage is apt to be
bitter," I argued.

However, this evening was an exception. Generally we talked of the West,
of cattle ranching, of trailing and of the splendid types of pioneers
who were about to vanish from the earth. One night as we sat at dinner
in his house, he suddenly leaned back in his chair and said with a smile
"I can't tell you how I enjoy having a man at my table who knows the
difference between a _parfleche_ and an _aparejo_."

Although I loved the trail I had given up shooting. I no longer carried
a gun even in the hills--although, I will admit, I permitted my
companions to do so. Roosevelt differed from me in this. He loved "the
song of the bullet." "It gives point and significance to the trail," he
explained.

I recall quoting to him one of his own vividly beautiful descriptions of
dawn among the hills, a story which led up to the stalking and the death
of a noble elk. "It was fine, all fine and true and poetic," I declared,
"but I should have listened with gratitude to the voice of the elk and
watched him go his appointed way in peace."

"I understand your position perfectly," he replied, "but it is
illogical. You must remember every wild animal dies a violent death. Elk
and deer and pheasants are periodically destroyed by snows and storms of
sleet--and what about the butcher killing lambs and chickens for your
table? I notice you accept my roast duck."

He was greatly interested in my proposed trip into the Yukon. "By
George, I wish I could go with you," he said, and I had no doubt of his
sincerity. Then his tone changed. "We are in for trouble with Spain and
I must be on the job."

To this I replied, "If I really knew that war was coming, I'd give up my
trip, but I can't believe the Spaniards intend to fight, and this is my
last and best chance to see the Northwest."

In my notebook I find this entry: "Jan., 1898. Dined again last night
with Theodore Roosevelt, Assistant Secretary of the Navy, a man who is
likely to be much in the public eye during his life. A man of great
energy, of noble impulses, and of undoubted ability."

I do not put this forward as evidence of singular perception on my part,
for I imagine thousands were saying precisely the same thing. I merely
include it to prove that I was not entirely lacking in penetration.

Henry B. Fuller, who came along one day in January, proved a jo