Hugging the Grand River (the only hugging I had done in that section) until after dark, we trailed through the sage until ten o'clock, when, discovering a fair grazing place, I ordered camp.
My donkeys had just rested two days, so next day, the 28th day of August, I made them trail fast and far, in spite of the heat. It was five o'clock when we pitched camp near the Scott Ranch.
I had observed a cow and several hens about the ranch. If I couldn't get milk, I might still obtain fresh eggs, and vice versa. Not waiting to unpack for a can, I set out for the house and knocked at the back door.
"Come in," called a female voice.
I entered the kitchen with hat in hand and politely said, "How to do?" The sober-faced housewife did not pause in her duties as she welcomed me to be seated.
"I came to purchase some milk and eggs," I said presently.
"Ain't got no eggs er milk to spare jest now," she replied; "cows all dried up." My face reflected my disappointment.
"Are all your hens dry also?" I asked, as the woman deluged a big white cochin with a pan of dish-water.
"That one ain't," she returned, smiling at her play on a word and a hen. The incident, trifling as it was, served to break the "ice." I introduced myself and explained my journey; the woman was interested; she had read about me. She told me to make myself "at home," and, admitting that one cow still gave milk and she could spare me a little, she went to the creamery. When she handed me a pail of milk, I offered to pay for it, and persuaded her to sell me a loaf of bread. But I had hardly started for camp with my precious purchases than I was surrounded by a swarm of yellow-jackets which proceeded to alight on the rim of the pail and my hand. I dropped the milk instantly, if not sooner. The woman's exclamation of indignation embarrassed me. I explained and apologized, while my kind "hostess" tried to convince me of the docility of those yellow-jackets; from her account one might suppose they were merely a dwarf species of canary birds. But finally she forgave my indiscretion, refilled the pail, and handing it to me, told me the insects were perfectly harmless, and were not known to sting anybody, unless they were harmed. I thanked the woman for her exceptional generosity and rare treatise on "insectology" and again started for my tent, resolved to preserve that milk at any cost. But I soon wavered from my resolve; the pail wavered, too. I couldn't change it from one hand to the other fast enough to elude those docile yellow-jackets. Then I hit upon a new idea; it looked practical enough. I spilled some milk on the ground, and after weaning many hornets from the pail, I lifted the latter, covered it with my hat, and made for camp.
Now once in a while a babe is found hard to wean; the same may be said of a yellow-jacket. One buzzing fellow, doubtless young and feeble, and being tired from long flight, sat on my bald pate to rest, there to die a violent death. On that spot, although his remains were removed, was soon reared a monumental mound, sacred to his memory. I yelled before I remembered it was not manly to do such a thing, and the good madam hastening to my aid, if not relief, carried the pail of milk to my tent, also bringing with her a can of jam. Her kind, forgiving disposition mentally paralyzed me. My own unprecedented conduct almost made me hang my sore head with shame.