“Very well, then, good people. We’ll consider the matter settled. You can camp here to-night and begin to learn the ropes the first thing in the morning.” The conversation turned on the day’s work and I gathered a fair idea of the usual activities. Mr. Adams would take the light team and with Mr. Bates push ahead, leaving Mrs. Adams to pursue a leisurely course with the mules. The men struck the first little store they came to, or if the country was very sparsely settled, they stopped at a farm. If they secured a sign order from the store-keeper, Bates remained to place it, depending on Mrs. Adams to pick him up as she passed. Meanwhile, Mr. Adams drove on to solicit more orders, search out a suitable camping place, and otherwise prepare for the coming of his party. This particular morning Adams had left the light team with Bates, who was busy with a sign, and had caught a ride in a passing buggy to the little town where I had met him. Each day’s programme was the spontaneous result of immediate needs. As we rose to say good-night, Mrs. Adams produced milk, eggs and whiskey, and they prepared a customary night cap. I was startled by the enormous draught of liquor poured out by our employer, who, noting my surprise, remarked apologetically, “I’ve been a frightful sufferer from insomnia for a number of years. That was one of the reasons which led me to adopt this mode of living, but even the open air has failed to relieve me. I’ve tried vigorous exercise, long walks, hot food and drink on retiring, medicines—everything—and I’ve found my only relief in these stiff jolts of whiskey. At times I am compelled to get up in the night and find the bottle. But I never become intoxicated.” “I should think that sort of thing would ruin your digestion.” “Well, I take certain precautions. I always take my evening dram in the form of an eggnog, and if I need a drink in the night, I take a large cup of milk first, which seems to prevent any untoward effects.” We made camp at the far side of the grove and were up bright and early, ready for the day’s work with the “California outfit,” as we dubbed the new caravan. The three men set out with the buckboard, while Mrs. Adams and I broke camp. After everything was packed and the mules hitched to the wagon, my companion got out a few handfuls of chicken feed and soon had the hens nicely settled for the day’s journey. Once the mules were in the main road and headed in the right direction, she slipped the lines into a patent clutch and began to unpack her wares.