se, reels, landing-nets,
cigarettes, tooth-powder, slickers, matches."

He was always accumulating matches. One moment, a box of matches would
be in plain sight and the next it had disappeared. He became a sort of
match-magazine, so that if anybody had struck him violently, in almost
any spot, he would have exploded.

Hours went by. The sun was getting high and hot. The crowd which had
been watching gradually disappeared about its business. The two
boats--big, sturdy river-boats they were--had rumbled along toward the
wilderness, one on top of the other, with George Locke and Mike Shannon
as pilots, watching for breakers ahead. In the corral, our supplies
were being packed on the horses, Bill Shea and Pete, Tom Sullivan and
Tom Farmer and their assistants working against time. In crates were our
cooking-utensils, ham, bacon, canned salmon, jam, flour, corn-meal,
eggs, baking-powder, flies, rods, and reels, reflector ovens, sunburn
lotion, coffee, cocoa, and so on. Cocoa is the cowboy's friend.
Innumerable blankets, "tarp" beds, and war-sacks lay rolled ready for
the pack-saddles. The cook was declaiming loudly that some one had
opened his pack and taken out his cleaver.

For a pack-outfit, the west side of Glacier Park is ideal. The east side
is much the best so far for those who wish to make short trips along the
trails into the mountains, although as yet only a small part,
comparatively, of the eastern wonderland is open. There, one may spend a
day, or several days, in the midst of the wildest possible country and
yet return at night to excellent hotels.

On the west side, however, a pack-outfit is necessary. There is but one
hotel, Lewis's, on Lake McDonald. To get to the Canadian line, there
must be camping facilities for at least eight days if there are no
stop-overs. And not to stop over is to lose the joy of the trip. It is
an ideal two to three weeks' jaunt with a pack-train. A woman who can
sit a horse--and every one can ride in a Western saddle--a woman can
make the land trip not only with comfort but with joy. That is, a woman
who likes the outdoors.

What did we wear, that bright morning when, all ready at last, the cook
on the chuck-wagon, the boats ambling ahead, with Bill Hossick, the
teamster, driving the long line of heavily packed horses and our own
saddlers lined up for the adventure, we moved out on to the trail?

Well, the men wore khaki riding-trousers and flannel shirts,
broad-brimmed felt