The Open Trail
After six long, weary weeks of rain, last night the clouds broke away and today the sun shines from a clear blue sky. It was a sparkling outdoors that smiled back at us as we opened our front door. O-we, our own mountain, stood out in all its glory, clear to its very peak, with all the mists rolled away, so that we could even see the top of the mountain on the Alberses' side of the river.
As though the shining morning itself was not enough to raise our spirits, we heard the sound of horses' hoofs and someone shouting to us from the main trail. This was later in the morning, when we were deeply engaged in sawing wood for our fireplace and had gone up our own little trail to pack some of it in. We had a glimpse of loaded animals through the trees and Mabel said, "Who do you suppose is going up to Happy Camp?" And then we saw that the little pack train had come to a stop, and heard someone shouting at us.
They were our own mules. After all these weeks of waiting, they were our own mules, safely across the Klamath and in our own back yard.
There were seven animals in all. Besides our own two mules, there were three animals that belonged to Witchpec George, and Shasta and Siskiyou. They were on their way back to Happy Camp, all loaded down with oats. We tried to preserve what dignity we could until the men had finished unloading the oats, and then we gave vent to our feelings