I. Choosing a Profession

I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in when I tried to explain forestry to my brother.

"Hunting grizzlies!" he cried. "Why, Ken, father says you‘ve been reading dime novels."

"Just wait, Hal, till he comes out here. I‘ll show him that forestry isn‘t just bear-hunting."

My brother Hal and I were camping a few days on the Susquehanna River, and we had divided the time between fishing and tramping. Our camp was on the edge of a forest some eight miles from Harrisburg. The property belonged to our father, and he had promised to drive out to see us. But he did not come that day, and I had to content myself with winning Hal over to my side.

"Ken, if the governor lets you go to Arizona can‘t you ring me in?"

"Not this summer. I‘d be afraid to ask him. But in another year I‘ll do it."

"Won‘t it be great? But what a long time to wait! It makes me sick to think of you out there riding mustangs

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