one good Shetland veil, well tied and pinned in, kept my sailor hat in place comfortably, even when the top was down and I was driving. The hat with a brim is a necessity when the sun shines for weeks at a time. I did not wear motor goggles, but the others did. Through all the Western states we found the female population in khaki breeches and puttees, khaki blouses, and hats like a sun-bonnet or a cowboy’s sombrero, and occasionally a coat to match, which was short and of a most unbecoming length. Often high tan boots were substituted for the puttees. It was a sensible costume, and well adapted to the country and life in the open that Western women lead. They all rode astride, wisely. Often we met parties of four in a Ford just hitting the high spots on the road. The farther we went into the real West, the West of the movies and the early days pictured by Bret Harte, we realized what part these Western women had played, and were still playing, in their unselfish, brave, industrious, vital lives, in the opening and developing of that vast territory, and in making such a trip as ours comfortable, safe, and even possible. I think, if I ever take the trip again, I shall adopt khaki breeches, and send my petticoats by express to our destination. This reminds me that I have not spoken of our trunks. Nine out of ten people that we have met in San Francisco have asked, “What became of your trunks, or didn’t you have any?” Before leaving New York we sent, collect, by American Railway Express, a large wardrobe trunk, the usual steamer trunk, and a French hat-box to San Francisco, “Hold until claimed.” These were held for seven weeks, and the total expense, delivered to our hotel, was $45.50--not at all bad. No matter of what material your clothes are made, a long motor trip ruins them. It is a large expense to get them pressed, and a small electric iron answers the purpose. It takes up but little space--every small hotel is equipped with electricity--and you appear _sans_ creases and wrinkles. Don’t do as one friend did, who put it in her traveling case with her bottles. One good bump did the business, and when she took it out “the mess of tooth-powder, cold cream, sunburn lotion, and broken glass was enough to spoil my trip.” Her stock was soon replenished. In every small town across the continent, without _one_ exception, we found the Rexall drugs and articles for sale; even when the town failed to boast of a ten-cent store, Dr. Rexall was on hand. It struck us as very remarkable, and was most convenient many times. The one article that I regretted not bringing was a good camera. When all our friends said, “Of course, you will take a camera,” my husband replied, that he wouldn’t be bothered with one; “they are a perfect nuisance.” That may be true, and the camera did not go touring; but some incidents that occurred cannot be adequately pictured in words--one in particular, our encounter with bears! Of this I shall speak later.