One account tells of traveling three hundred and fifty miles in twenty-four days. Fish were caught in handfuls, horses caved in geyser formations, and Indians were seen. All of these activities were duly reported to a keenly interested American public. Indeed, a general concern for the President’s security was aroused. This natural anxiety gave occasion for a rumor that the President’s safety was in jeopardy, not from accident, wild animals, or Indians, but rather from a gang of desperadoes. A dispatch bearing the postmark of Hailey, Idaho, stated that a large band of Texas criminals had been observed in a mysterious ceremonial at Willow Park in Yellowstone. According to the report, each man swore by his dagger to do his duty, which was no less than the capture of the President of the United States and his entire party. The captives would then be held in a wilderness cavern until a ransom of one million dollars had been paid! [Illustration: W. S. Chapman Stagecoach.] The alarming report that “They are after Arthur!” was followed by the reassuring word that Sheriff Farcy and a company of United States troops were investigating the reported conspiracy. Certainly the presidential expedition was enveloped in an atmosphere of high romance![221] It is said that camping trips have always been ideal testers of friendship. Camp life is an excellent form of association because it is bound to disclose every character trait. Each virtue is surely tried, and every vice is certain to show itself. Wit, cheerfulness, patience, and industry were in demand, and their opposites greatly discounted. Some knowledge of cooking, washing, caring for animals, and tying the diamond hitch was essential. Good hunters and fishermen were popular in these camps. Skill in constructing fir-bough lean-tos against storms and couches for sleeping came in handy. Last of all, the gift of storytelling and song made its possessor the head of the nightly campfire circle. Were these the people the poet envisioned? Keep not standing fix’t and rooted, Briskly venture, briskly roam; Head and hand, where’er thou foot it, And stout heart are still at home. In each land the sun does visit We are gay, whate’er betide: To give room for wandering is it That the world was made so wide.[222] Pack outfit owners were a lusty sort. Some of them divided their time between acting as guides and slaughtering game for both meat and hides. A few were wholly unscrupulous, both in their exploitation of the tourists and the Park.[223] Still others were high-type frontiersmen. A description has been left of one Texas Jack, named John Omohondro, originally from Virginia: