"I was aimin' to hit Bull's Pass, drop over the summit into the valley of the Klimminchuck, and camp somewheres. There was two trappers in there winter before last, and they told me they built them a right good cabin."
"That suits me."
"This will fix us up with water for the next two weeks," said McHale as he listened to the rain. "I'll bet Casey's got a grin on him a yard wide." He yawned. "Well, kid, we've got all that's comin' to us out of this one day. Let's hit them blankets. We better make an early start."
They were up in the early dawn, breakfasted, saddled, and packed, and headed for the hills. At noon they reached the foot of the pass. A narrow trail, often choked by fallen timber and small landslides, led them upward, winding in and out, sometimes near the bottom of an always ascending gorge, sometimes forsaking it for broad, flat benches parklike with stately trees, sometimes clinging precariously to shoulders of bare rock where a slip would have been fatal.
They camped that night near the summit, and next day dropped down into a valley, narrow, wooded, picturesque, where the Klimminchuck raced southward; and, following its course, camped at the edge of a beaver meadow, feasting on trout fresh caught from a deep pool beneath a short fall. And in the morning, still following the stream, they came to the trappers' cabin, set in a grove of young spruce.
It was built of small logs chinked with moss and clay, and most of the chinking had fallen out. Its roof was of poles covered with earth. A two-man bunk occupied much of the interior. The remainder was taken up by a rough table, a bench, and a rusty wreck of a little sheet-iron stove. There was room to get in and stay in, and that was all. And yet two men had lived in that pen all winter, and emerged healthy and fairly good-tempered in the spring.
The companions peered through the door at the uninviting interior. The floor was a litter of rubbish, old clothes in a state of decomposition, leaves, bones, and rusty cans and pans. Young McCrae wrinkled an outraged nose.
"Pfaugh!" he snorted. "The shack's filthy. We can't use it."
"The smell is some obvious," McHale agreed. "Which bein' so, I reckon we build us a wickiup several nose lengths off."
They found a suitable spot, and there they built an elaborate lean-to. Having established themselves, they rested, smoked, and slept. In the evening they caught trout for supper and breakfast. There was absolutely nothing to do unless they created employment for themselves.