We pitched our little tent in a secluded wood some three miles from the
lake at the head of Cascade Creek, and began to lay our plan of attack.
We were by this time inured to fatigue and disappointment. Weariness
and loss of sleep had produced a dogged determination that knew no
relaxation. And yet we were cheerful. Young has that fine quality so
essential to a hunting companion, imperturbable good nature, never
complaining, no matter how heavy the load, how long the trail, how late
or how early the hour, how cold, how hot, how little, or how poor the
food.
We were there to win and nothing else mattered. If it rained and we
must wait, we took out our musical instruments, built up the fire and
soothed our troubled souls with harmony. This is better than tobacco or
whiskey for the purpose. In fact, Young is so abstemious that even tea
or coffee seem a bit intemperate to him, and are only to be used under
great physical strain; and as for profanity, why, I had to do all the
swearing for the two of us.
We were trained down to rawhide and sinew, keyed to alertness and ready
for any emergency.
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