Had the girls not been so gaily engaged in chattering, they must have noticed Tom’s solemn face. He was disturbed, for he felt that the comfort of the party, as well as the arrangements for the trip into the hills, was his own particular responsibility.
It was late afternoon when the combination local (half baggage and freight, and half passenger) hobbled to a stop at Yucca. Besides a dusty looking individual in a cap who served the railroad as station agent, there was not a human being in sight.
“What a jolly place!” cried Jennie Stone, turning to all points of the compass to gaze. “So much life! We’re going to have a gay time in Yucca, I can see.”
“Sh!” begged Trix. “Don’t wake them up.”
“Awaken whom, my dear?” drawled Sally Blanchard.
“The dead, I think,” said Helen. “This place must be the understudy for a graveyard.”
At that moment a gray muzzle was thrust between the rails of a corral beside the track and an awful screech rent the air, drowning the sound of the locomotive whistle as the train rolled away.
“For goodness’ sake! what is that?” begged Rebecca, quite startled.
“Mountain canary,” laughed Helen. “That is what will arouse you at dawn—and other times—while we are on the march to Freezeout.”
“You don’t mean to say,” demanded Trix, “that all that sound came out of that little creature?” And she ran over to the corral fence the better to see the burro.