“Why, because they can’t express themselves,” was the reply.

“Not verbally, perhaps,” suggested Fat, “but they do have a signal code, of which their hind legs are the main features.  I’ve had them signal at me more than once.”

“And if you ever receive the completed message,” added Ham, “it usually says, ‘Six weeks in the hospital.’”

At the top of the hogsback the party separated into two groups.  The one under Mr. Allen continued on up the trail with the two donkeys, while the other, under Mr. Dean, took the railroad, walking around by Fairview, to see if their equipment had arrived.

It was decided the boys would sleep around a rousing fire rather than on the cold floor of the cabin.  The shakedown was too dry to be comfortable, and Ham’s aerial bunk had not yet been completed.  They therefore chose a spot for the night’s camp across the stream from the cabin on a piece of high level ground covered with a thick brown carpet of pine needles.  Very soon a bright fire was burning and the night’s wood gathered.  From the bulging packsacks a real camp supper was gotten under way.  Every fellow cooked his own piece of meat and baked his potato in the coals, while Mr. Allen made the coffee and opened the cans of beans.  Each fellow fashioned himself a spoon from a dry stick, and the new cabin tincups were initiated into service.  Ham, who had had some previous experience with donkeys, warned everybody to be sure to save all the scraps, for beans, rye bread, or beefsteak were all dainties to the faithful animals.

One of the fellows had brought his mouth-organ, and under his leadership they sang every song from “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” to “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”  When the fire had had time to work its wonders on the hearts and spirits of the campers, Mr. Allen suggested a few stories.  Of course, he just voiced what was in the minds of many others, for who ever heard of a campfire, a grand night, a happy crowd, and no stories?  Such a situation was inconceivable.  Every fellow looked forward to the campfire because of the stories, and remembered the stories because of the campfire.  They were inseparable.  Mr. Dean opened the program.  One story suggested another, and that one another, until nearly every one in the circle had told a story except Ham.  Willis told Indian legends of the great Kankakee Swamp and of the disappearance of the Pottawattomie Indians.  Another told of a wonderful trip through Yellowstone Park; another of a deer hunt in Routt County; and still another of a mountain goat expedition in the Canadian Rockies.  All the while Ham lay flat on his back, shading his face from the fire with his hands, and looking up at the stars.  He was reveling in the spirit of the fire and of the night.

“What are you dreaming about, Ham?” called Willis from the other side of the fire, to which Ham made no reply.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Fat, as he rolled over, facing Ham, and punched him in the ribs.