We were saddling Shasta and Siskiyou for a trip to Hoopa when Steve come over. Yesterday, when Mr. Wright, on his way from Happy Camp to Orleans, dropped off a mailbag with our weekly mail, we found a letter from the new superintendent. It informed us that he wanted to get acquainted with all the workers in his field.
Steve stood watching us as we came out with the saddle bags, and then observed noncommittally, "You lock door."
We shook our heads, got the saddle bags tied on, and prepared to mount.
"I think better you lock door," said Steve more persuasively.
We grinned at him. "Not in Indian country, Steve," we said. "You don't lock doors in Indian country.
Steve looked unconvinced. "I think better you lock door," he said firmly. "Maybe white man, he come along the trail."
It seemed that although Steve recognizes honesty as an Indian characteristic he did not feel that it applied to white men.
We had looked forward with some eagerness to meeting the new superintendent, for we doubted whether he would take all the things we wanted for a winter in I-ees-i-rum in the proper spirit. But after some discussion of the suitation in up-river country, he proved genuinely friendly and gave us three hours of his time. Not only are we to have mules but oats. Think of it! And horseshoeing.