THE PACK-HORSE TRIP
EVERY one enjoyed the camping trip, from the Ranger’s little girl,
whose first long trip it was on horseback, to Fuzzy-Wuzz, whose natural
love of exploring made it a real treat to ride all day atop the burro’s
pack.
The sun felt good on one’s fur in the crisp autumn weather, as they
threaded the clean aisles of pine and fir,--and my what appetites they
had! Then the starlit evenings around the bon-fire, when the little
bear was allowed to snooze on the saddle blankets!
He got himself in bad one night, though, by helping himself to a plate
of flapjacks before the family had had their share. If it hadn’t been
for that--but wait!
Bucky, the young burro, was also fond of flapjacks. In fact, he was
fond of anything that could be eaten, and he was everlastingly fond of
eating. The Ranger used to say there was no bottom to his stomach,--the
more he put into it, the more he wanted. But then, he was growing fast.
That little gray donkey would eat anything from a thistle to a piece
of paper smeared with bacon grease. As each night two or three cans of
vegetables were opened, he would eat the paper off the cans for the
flour paste with which they had been pasted on.
He chewed the Ranger’s shoe, one night, just to sample the flavor. He
loved potato parings, and raised his voice and sang for the bacon rinds.
Oh, what a voice he had! “Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw!” he would bray
till some one came to feed him. “It’s worth while giving him something
to eat, just to keep him quiet,” declared the Ranger’s wife.
On the trail young Bucky, like his parents, expressed most of his
feelings with his ears. When all was going well, their long ears swayed
forward and backward, forward and backward, with each step they took.
If something startled them, forward would prick those great, listening
ears till their curiosity had been satisfied. But if they got stubborn,
back they would lay their ears as flat as they could plaster them.
One night every one was extra tired, and they all forgot and left
the flour bag open. It was the night they arrived at the Big Trees,
and they were too filled with awe and wonder to think of anything
practical. The next morning Fuzzy happened to wake early, and went off
on an exploring expedition of his own. That wonderful nose of his had
told him that there was a nest of field mice somewhere about there, and
he meant to dig them out.
Meantime the family arose, bathed in the river, and started breakfast
preparations. While the boy brought in wood for the fire the little
girl carried water from the spring, and the Ranger rounded up the
stock,--as they say out West when they go to drive back the horses, who
often stray in the night,--his wife made ready to bake biscuit.
She looked for the big twenty-five-pound flour sack. It was half empty,
and flour was strewn all over the ground!
The two big burros were always hobbled, like the horses, over night, so
that they could browse in the little mountain meadows without wandering
too far. Young Bucky was left free. Just now he was nowhere in sight.
“Children,” called their mother sharply, “see what that bear of yours
has done!” And Fuzzy, returning at that moment, wondered why every one
scolded.
When the Ranger came in with the pack train, young Bucky’s muzzle
was white with flour and his sides puffed out amazingly. “Here’s the
culprit,” he sang out. “Trust a burro for raiding camp every chance he
gets. Nothing but a donkey could pull through after a spree like what
he’s been on.”
“Then Fuzzy didn’t do a thing,” and the boy flung his arms around the
brown cub.
“Perhaps not this time, but if he hadn’t stolen those flapjacks, he
wouldn’t have been misjudged.”