[Illustration: "I WAS TEMPTED TO SHOOT THE CARTRIDGE OUT JUST TO MAKE
IT LIGHTER"]
_May 1st._ I visited the office of the camp paper to-day and found it
to be an extremely hectic place. In the course of a conversation with
the Chief I chanced to look up and caught two shining eyes staring
malevolently at me from a darkened corner of the room. This creature
blinked at me several times very rapidly, wiggled its mustache and
suddenly disappeared into the thick shadows.
"Who is that?" I cried, startled.
"That's our mad photographer," said the Chief. "What do you think of
him?"
"Do you keep him in there?" I asked, pointing to the coal-black
cupboard-like room into which this strange creature had disappeared.
"Yes," said the Chief, "and he likes it. Often he stays there for days
at a time, only coming out for air." At this juncture there came from
the dark room the sounds of breaking glass, which was immediately
followed by strange animal-like sounds as the mad photographer burst
out of his den and proclaimed to all the world that nothing meant very
much in his life and that it would be absolutely immaterial to him if
the paper and its entire staff should suddenly be visited with flood,
fire and famine.
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