“An Indian will give you anything he owns for one of ’em,” chuckled the colonel. “The tin pan is a luxury, but you’ve got to have these. If you learn the art of how to fold and sleep in ’em, you’ll be pretty well fixed.”
Colonel Howell did not seem to be worrying about his own outfit, and when he left the boys his work for the day was probably financial.
By the middle of Sunday afternoon, the Gitchie Manitou had been safely stored in its new crates, and then, with a small tool chest and a hastily-made box crowded with extra parts, had been loaded on a large motor truck and forwarded to the railroad yards. The remainder of the day was utilized by the young aviators in compactly packing their personal belongings, and in the evening the two young men had dinner at the Zept home. The young Count, whom they had not seen since the day before when he accompanied Colonel Howell at the closing exercises of the Stampede, was present and nervously enthusiastic.
After dinner the three boys went to Paul’s room where Grant and Roy were astonished at the elaborateness of their friend’s outfit. Paul had not confined himself to those articles suggested by his practical father but had brought together an array of articles many of which were ridiculously superfluous.
He had worked so seriously in his selection, however, that it was not a laughing matter. So his new friends hesitated to tell him that half of his baggage was not necessary. Therefore they said nothing until Paul, having proudly exhibited his several costumes, his new leather cases for carrying his camera, field glasses, revolvers, and two guns, noticed the lack of approval on their faces.
“Well,” he said, with a smile, “out with it. I couldn’t help getting them, but I know I don’t need all this stuff. You fellows know. Throw out what I don’t need. I bought a lot of it in Paris, but don’t mind that. I’m not going to take a thing that I can do without.”
Greatly relieved, Norman and Roy fell to work on the elaborate assortment and in a short time had but little more left in the heap than one man could carry.
“What’s this?” asked Roy, as they reached a soft leather roll about the size of a big pillow, carefully strapped.
“It’s my blankets,” explained Paul, opening the flap and exhibiting two soft fleecy articles. “They’re from London.”
“Well,” exclaimed Norman positively, “you give them to your sister for her picnics. Then you go down to-morrow morning and get a four-point Hudson’s Bay blanket, fourteen feet long, pay your twelve dollars for it, get a strap to hang it on your back, and I reckon you’ll have about all you need.”