A Summer in a Canyon | Page 6

of adventures to tell me when you come back.'
'When we come back, indeed!' exclaimed Bell. 'Why, we shall write long round-robin letters every few days, and send them by the team. Papa says Pancho will have to go over to the stage station at least once a week for letters and any provisions we may need.'
'Oh, won't that be delightful,--almost as good as being there myself! And, Margery dear, you must make them tell me every least little thing that happens. You know they are such fly-aways that they'll only write me when they learn to swim, or shoot a wildcat, or get lost in the woods. I want to know all the stupid bits: what you have for dinner, how and where you sleep, how your camp looks, what you do from morning till night, and how Dicky behaves.'
'I can tell you that beforehand,' said Bell, dolefully. 'Jack will shoot him by mistake on Thursday; he will be kicked by the horses Friday, and bitten by tarantulas and rattlesnakes Saturday; he will eat poison oak on Sunday, get lost in the canyon Monday, be eaten by a bear Tuesday, and drowned in the pool Wednesday. These incidents will complete his first week; and if they produce no effect on his naturally strong constitution, he will treat us to another week, containing just as many mishaps, but no duplicates.'
By the time this dismal prophecy was ended the other girls were in a breathless fit of laughter, though all acknowledged it was likely to be fulfilled.
'I went over the camping-ground last summer,' said Margery. 'You know it is quite near papa's sheep ranch, and it is certainly the most beautiful place in California. The tents will be pitched at the mouth of the canyon, where there is a view of the ocean, and just at the back will be a lovely grove of wild oaks and sycamore-trees.'
'Oh, won't it be delicious!' sighed Elsie. 'I feel as if I could sniff the air this minute. But there! I won't pretend that I'm dying for fresh air, with the breath of the sea coming in at my south window, and a whiff of jasmine and honeysuckle from the piazza. That would be nonsense. Are your trunks packed?'
'Trunks!' exclaimed Polly. 'Would you believe it, our clothes are packed in gunny-sacks! We start in our camping-dresses, with ulsters for the steamer and dusters for the long drive. Then we each have-- let me see what we have: a short, tough riding-skirt with a jersey, a bathing-dress, and some gingham morning-gowns to wear about the camp at breakfast-time.'
'And flannel gowns for the night, and two pairs of boots, and a riding-cap and one hat apiece,' added Margery.
'But oh, Elsie, my dear, you should see Dicky in his camping-suits,' laughed Bell. 'They are a triumph of invention on mamma's part. Just imagine! one is of some enamelled cloth that was left over from the new carriage cushions; it is very shiny and elegant; and the other, truly, is of soft tanned leather, and just as pretty as it can be. Then he has hob-nailed, copper-toed boots, and a hat that ties under his chin. Poor little man, he has lost his curls, too, and looks rather like a convict.'
Mrs. Howard came in the door while Bell was speaking, and laughed heartily at the description of Dicky's curious outfit. 'What time do you start?' she asked, as she laid a bunch of mignonette on Elsie's table.
'At eleven to-morrow morning,' Bell answered. 'Everything is packed. We are to start in the steamer, and when we come to our old landing, about forty miles down the coast, we are to get off and take a three- seated thorough-brace wagon, and drive over to Las Flores Canyon. Pancho has hired a funny little pack mule; he says we shall need one in going up the mountain, and that the boys can take him when they go out shooting,--to carry the deer home, you know.'
'If I can bring Elsie down, as I hope, we must come by land,' said Mrs. Howard. 'I thought we could take two days for the journey, sleeping at the Burtons' ranch on the way. The doctor says that if she can get strength enough to bear the ride, the open-air life will do her good, even if she does nothing but lie in the hammock.'
'And be waited upon by six willing slaves,' added Polly.
'And be fed on canned corned beef and tomato stew,' laughed Bell.
'Not a bit of it,' said Margery. 'Hop Yet is a splendid cook, if he has anything to cook, and we'll feed her on broiled titbits of baby venison, goat's milk, wild bees' honey, and cunning little mourning doves, roasted on a spit.'
'Good gracious,' cried Bell, 'what angels' food! only I would as