File:Outing (1885) (14595986958).jpg

Identifier: outing51newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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mongmy cairns, and before noon he and Ossiphad their tongues tucked into their cheeks,watching the Aladdin stove boil tea. Rainpeppered the tent. They didnt ask me, orseem to care, where I had been. Indeed,it was none of their business, any more thanit was mine why improvidently theybegan to chuck away all their salmon. Packed after noon, we were shinning tothe valley over white slope and black rib.I dropped behind, looking back over myshoulder continually, hypnotically, at thefickle heights leveling themselves fromsheerness. I would have continually topull up, force myself to look forward. Says the diary for August 7th: Thetent is pitched in the gully where we noonedyesterday. It is raining hard. Rice isboiling. Our socks are dangling from thetent pole. The boys have produced sewingoutfits, squaw-embroidered Aunt Jemimas(the lay-readers is very ornate with beads),and are mending their terpisar soles withtwisted sinew. I ask Pete what it is madeof. He imitates plunging whales with his
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On the Chase for Volcanoes 671 arms, blows out his cheeks for their spout-ing. Each has the neatest little nickelbox to hold his inexhaustible chew-ter-bac when hes through with a spell ofmastication. How deep they dive into theGood night. Lifes not sugar! . .so perverse, after all. Self-sufficiency is amyth. You miss one goal, but other gloryseats lie beyond, The rain rattles on thedarned parafined silk and leaks through;but, thank you, weve sighted only two mo-squitoes. I hear Ossip now and then run-ning his finger down a seam to lead the dripinto the moss; soon low, savage snores. The dawn blazed low and golden, spottedwith dark clouds like a leopards skin.Still rain. Five mortal hours we struggledto the village, from vague soft ridge toridge, eerie pond to pond, strangely athirstand our cheeks burning in the drizzly gale.I left the route to the boys—surely theyshould know the way home—but they fol-lowed me implicitly. Once Pete turned tome and said; Corn puss? At length Iunder

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