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"Oh, what a fine and handsome thing it is to sit in taverns over flagons of ale and discourse bravely of what daring things we will do! How we will walk the unknown paths through lands of sylvan beauty, facing the savage in his native habitat, far from the dust of London crowds! Warmed by wine, the rolling poetry of words and a fine sweep of gesture, a young man feels the world is his with a pearl in every oyster, a lovely lass behind every window, and enemies who fade from sight at his very presence! Yet the moment of reality comes, and no eloquence will build a stockade, nor will a poetic phrase fend off an arrow, for the savage of the woodland has his own conception of romance and poetry, which may involve the dreamer's scalp."Louis L'amour, To the Far Blue Mountains