CHAPTER XII
GOLD!
In the pass between two appalling peaks the two boys sighted the smoke of a cook-fire, and without once reflecting that they were unarmed, pan-caked down for a closer inspection. But there was no need to land. It was a band of Indians. And though they searched till they were ready to drop with fatigue,—and all but frozen stiff in those high altitudes,—not the sign of a Mexican did they sight after that.
They returned utterly discouraged.
“What kind of Indians were they?” asked Long Lester.
“Oh, just Indians,” said the ranch boy.
“That is like saying, oh, just whites,” said Norris. “Indians differ more than you would ever imagine.”
“Why is that, Mr. Norris?” Ted wanted to know. “They’re mostly mighty good for nothing specimens, to judge from our Diggers.”
“I’ll tell you after supper,” Norris promised them.
Pedro had been out with his trout rod. Descending to the river, which here circled around a huge bowlder from which he thought he could cast, he had a string in no time.