The tents had been struck, at daylight; and every cooking utensil and dish had been scoured and put into the crate as soon as it was used.

Camp was policed and cleaned.
The fire was beaten to death; a half-score pails of water were dowsed over its remains; and damp earth was flung upon it.
In short, the camping spot was not only left as it had been found and as one would want it to be found again, but every trace of fire was destroyed.
And all this, be it known, is more than a mere rule for campers.

It should be their sacred creed.

If one is not thoroughgoing sportsman enough to make his camp-site scrupulously clean, at least there is one detail he should never allow himself to neglect;--a detail whose omission should be punished by a term in prison: Namely, the utter extinction of the campfire.
Every year, millions of dollars' worth of splendid trees and of homes are wiped out, by forest fires.

No forest fire, since the birth of time, ever started of its own accord.