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One day I watched a freighter get stuck in the mud down the road 'a piece. One by one, the whole number of freighters, mountaineers and guides then at Yeddar's lounged to the place, until there were nine able-bodied men ranged in a row watching the freighter dig out his wagon.
The two are side by side, and toss her about a dozen times a day but happiness never lets her go for long. Life at Yeddar's ranch on Green River, where Nimrod and I left the pack train, is different from life in New York; likewise the people are different.
A two-story log house, a one-room log office, a log barn, and, across the creek, the log shack we occupied, fifty miles from the railroad, and no end of miles from anything else, but wilderness that was Yeddar's. Old Yeddar Uncle John, the guides and trappers and teamsters called him had solved the problem of ideal existence.
He was not known to take off his clothes at any other time, and if the weather were disagreeable the pilgrimage was omitted. The cheapest thing at Yeddar's, except time, was advice. You could not tie up a dog without the entire establishment of loafers bossing the job. A little active co-operation was not so easy to get, however.
The graceful things eyed me suspiciously for several seconds and then advanced a little in a one-sided fashion. A laugh from Yeddar's office, across the creek, where Uncle John and Dave were having a quiet game of pinochle, caused a short retreat up the road.
The box was rather heavy, so Nimrod went to Yeddar's, which was not far away, to see if he could get one of the loungers to help carry the captive to a large wire cage that we had rigged up near our shack.
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