might
put a New York dinner to shame--all to the tune of $10 a week. Also, at
this very station, is the Supervisor's office of the Forestry
Department. By inquiry here, the newcomer can ascertain all facts as to
tenting outfit and camping place. Only one point must be kept in
mind--do not go into the National Forests expecting the railroads, or
the rangers, or Providence, to look after you. Do not go unless you are
prepared to look after yourself.

And now that you are in the National Forests, what are you going to do?
You can ride; or you can hunt; or you can fish; or you can bathe in the
hot springs that dot so many of these intermountain regions, where God
has landscaped the playground for a nation; or you can go in for
records mountain climbing; or you can go sightseeing in the most
marvelously beautiful mountain scenery in the whole world; or you can
prowl round the prehistoric cave and cliff dwellings of a race who
flourished in mighty power, now solitary and silent cities,
contemporaneous with that Egyptian desert runner whose skeleton lies in
the British Museum marked 20,000 B. C. It isn't every day you can wander
through the deserted chambers of a king's palace with 500 rooms. Tourist
agencies organize excursion parties for lesser and younger palaces in
Europe. I haven't heard of any to visit the silent cities of the cliff
and cave dwellers on the Jemez Plateau of New Mexico, or the Gila River,
Arizona, or even the easily accessible dead cities of forgotten peoples
in the National Forest of Southern Colorado. What race movement in the
first place sent these races perching their wonderful tier-on-tier
houses literally on the tip-top of the world?

The prehistoric remains of the Southwest are now, of course, under the
jurisdiction of the Forestry Department; and you can't go digging and
delving and carrying relics from the midden heaps and baked earthen
floors without the permission of the Secretary of Agriculture; but if
you go in the spirit of an investigator, you will get that permission.

* * * * *

The question isn't _what is there to do_. It is _which of the countless
things there are to do_ are you going to choose to do? When Mr.
Roosevelt goes to the National Forests, he strikes for the Holy Cross
Mountain and bags a grizzly. When ordinary folk hie to this Forest, they
take along a bathing suit and indulge in a daily plunge in the hot pools
at Glenwood Springs. If the l