Hank Dawson directed the entire operation with practiced efficiency. He gave Sandy and Mike the job of weeding out excess equipment and storing it away.
“That includes all your fishing tackle,” he told them. “You won’t be needing that in the mountains. And the heavy camping stuff—like tents and sleeping bags and cooking gear.”
“All the comforts of home,” Mike observed ruefully.
“That’s it,” Hank agreed. “Tents are too bulky. One frying pan apiece is plenty, and a couple of blankets is all you’ll need for a bedroll.”
“What about an air mattress?” Mike suggested hopefully.
Hank brushed the idea aside. “That’s the trouble with most campers. They go out on the trail with so much fancy equipment that they don’t have time to enjoy what they came for. Why, I remember a party I guided once—he came up here to get himself a mountain sheep.” Hank shook his head in wonder. “That man was a walking sporting-goods store. Took three mules for his equipment alone. It used to take us two hours in the morning just to break camp. I tried to tell him right after dawn was the best time to bag a sheep, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Did he ever get one?” Sandy asked.
Hank smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got my reputation to think of. I got up one morning while he was still in the sack and found me a real nice ram. After I shot him, I propped him up against some rocks and went back down to camp. ‘I think we’ll find ourselves a sheep today,’ I told him. ‘There’s a set of tracks near here that looks promising.’” Hank chuckled and fished in his pocket for some cigarette makings. “Course, what he didn’t know,” he went on, as he expertly rolled himself a smoke, “was that no man alive ever saw tracks over solid rock. Anyway, he thought I could and that was the important thing. I led him around for about an hour and finally brought him to where he could see the ram I’d planted. ‘Go ahead,’ I told him. ‘Shoot before he gets away.’ Well, he rears up his rifle and lets that sheep have it. The force of his bullet knocks the sheep over just like I knew it would. I skinned it real quick so’s he wouldn’t notice the second bullet hole and then gave him the head to have mounted. He was the happiest man I ever saw. Guess he’s still bragging about that shot.”
“Do all guides have that kind of trouble?” Mr. Cook asked.
Hank shrugged. “It’s bound to happen in this business. Ask Joe. He knows.”