l go down in campers' history. A feed, in short,
that will make us feel that we have been FED."

With that resolution we set to work. It was tiresome and sleepy work, to
be sure, but thorough for all that. It was, indeed, as if we made our
gastronomic will before ending the trip, for ere we clambered into our
blankets the pride of the larder, the best of what was left in the
pack-saddles, was placed in our biggest pot.

It was to be a mulligan--a mighty mulligan. In it there were venison,
ham, bacon, potatoes, onions, a dash of corn, a taste of tomatoes,
remnants of bannocks, some persistent beans, and a handful of rice; it
was freckled with raisins and seasoned to the king's taste. Almost
devoutly we laid it to rest, placing the big pot upon the fire and
reinforcing the dying blaze with lasting knots. Then, with contented
sighs, we dove into sleeping-bags and blankets, and forthwith passed
into the land of dream-mountains, where one coasted for eons down
comfortably warm snow slopes, and venison mulligan flowed in the streams
instead of water.

Alas for dreams! Like the proverbial worm, the log turned--and with it
the pot, bottom up. In the wee small hours the sound of sizzling ashes
waked us, and we roused to discover the fragrant juices of our precious
mulligan oozing into the hungry ground.

Tragedy? Truly yes; a sad, sad campers' tragedy. But what could we do?
It avails nothing to cry over spilt mulligan. So once more we nestled
in the blankets and drifted off into the Land of Nod, dreaming sadly of
wrecked mulligan and gladly of future excursions in the wondrous,
pleasant mountain land of Oregon.

CHAPTER VIII

Uncle Sam's Forests

Once we reached a certain ranger station after sundown. It was the end
of a long trail day, our horses were tired, we were fagged, and darkness
was hard upon us. The only good grass in sight was the forty-acre fenced
pasture surrounding the Forest Service cabin. So opening the gate we
entered the forbidden land, unsaddled, and turned the horses lose.

Just as we had the fire started and the coffee boiling, up came the
ranger, with a star on his shirt and an air of outraged authority about
him. "You can't make camp here," said he. My partner had a legal turn of
mind, and came back quickly with the observation that we had already
done so.

"Well, you'll have to unmake it, then," continued Uncle Sam's
representative. "This here isn't for campers; it's reserved for the
S