es gave ample ventilation. Socks I had none; neither had I
suspenders, an improvised belt taking their place. I was dressed for the
race and was eager for the trial. At Olympia I had parted with my
brother, who had returned to stay at the claims we had taken, while I
was to go home for the wife and baby, to remove them to our new home.

I did not particularly mind the camping, but I did not fancy the idea
of lying out so near home if by extra exertion I could reach the cabin
before night. There was no friendly ox to snug up to for warmth, as in
so many of the bivouacs on the plains; but I had matches, and there were
many mossy places for a bed under the friendly shelter of drooping
cedars. We never thought of catching cold from lying on the ground or on
cedar boughs, or from getting a good drenching.

After all, the cabin could not be reached, as the trail could not be
followed at night. Slackening pace at nightfall to cool my system
gradually, I finally made my camp and slept as soundly as if on a bed of
down. My consolation was that the night was short and I could see to
travel by three o'clock.

I do not look upon those years of camp and cabin life as years of
hardship. To be sure, our food was plain as well as our dress; our hours
of labor were long and the labor itself was frequently severe; the
pioneers appeared rough and uncouth. Yet underlying all this there ran a
vein of good cheer, of hopefulness. We never watched for the sun to go
down, or for the seven o'clock whistle, or for the boss to quicken our
steps. The days were always too short, and interest in our work was
always unabated.

The cabin could not be seen until the trail came quite near it. When I
caught sight of a curl of smoke I knew I was almost there. Then I saw
the cabin and a little lady in almost bloomer dress milking the cow. She
never finished milking that cow, nor did she ever milk any cow when her
husband was at home.

There were so many things to talk about that we could scarcely tell
where to begin or when to stop. Much of the conversation naturally
centered on the question of our moving to a new home.

"Why, at Olympia, eggs were a dollar a dozen. I saw them selling at
that. The butter you have there would bring you a dollar a pound as fast
as you could weigh it out. I saw stuff they called butter sell for that.
Potatoes are selling for three dollars a bushel and onions at four.
Everything the farmer raises sells high."

"Who buys