That first afternoon’s hike up a canyon trail, which at times scarcely afforded footing for the plodding little beasts under the pack-saddles, came as near to “getting” Purdick as anything he had ever experienced. Having never had time—or the spare energy—to do any athletic work in college, the toiling tramp, with a blanket roll and a gun to carry, made him realize, as he never had before, the handicap of untrained muscles and sinews, and as he dragged along at the tail of the little procession he was chopping out a vow to make the summer outing a turning point for a fellow named Charles Purdick in one respect at least: if hard work and grit would do it, the end of the summer should find him better fitted for man-sized, outdoor work or he’d know the reason why.
Notwithstanding this fine resolution, he heaved a mighty sincere sigh of relief when the five-hour trudge up the canyon came to an end in one of the park-like widenings of the gorge which had been recurring with increasing frequency during the past hour or so, and Dick called to Larry: “Well, old sock; how about it? Isn’t this far enough up so that we can hit the pass in the frosty dawn?”
Larry, who had been leading the foremost burro, stopped and gave the landscape the once over.
“Couldn’t be much better,” he decided. “Plenty of wood, good water, and fir boughs for the shake-downs. Alabama!”
“Huh?” said Dick. “What’s Alabama got to do with it?”
Larry gave a wide-mouthed grin.
“Dig up your U. S. History, sonny. ‘Alabama’ means ‘Here we rest.’ All hands on deck to make camp.”
They went at it like old-timers—or at least two of them did. Though they hadn’t had much to do with the actual camp-making in their railroad construction experience of the summer before, Larry and Dick had learned pretty well how to make themselves at home in the wilderness. While the setting sun—long since gone behind the towering western ranges—was still filling the upper air with a flood of golden radiance, they unpacked the jacks and picketed them to graze on the lush grass of the little park, built the camp-fire, and chopped enough of the fragrant fir tips for the beds.
It was after the fire had burned down to a bed of coals that little Purdick began to shine. Out of the hard experience of his strugglesome boyhood he had brought a pretty good knowledge of plain cooking, and in a little time he dished up a supper that made his two camp-mates pound him on his tired back and bombard him with all sorts of jollying praise.