"It's about half a mile I should judge," said the guide, "but I wouldn't advise your starting now, late as it is, for it's a rough path. I wouldn't wonder if we couldn't see one of them birds on our way back. There's sure to be one 'round a mountain stream, specially if it's falling water. We'll look out for him as we go along. I guess, sissy, you'd better mount now. This here young man wants to swop burros with you and I guess you'd better let him," he turned to Mary Lee.
Carter had already mounted Mary Lee's self-willed little burro, protesting that he wanted the fun of managing him, so Mary Lee, seated on a surer animal, joined the cavalcade which started down the homeward way.
The water ousel was discovered where a dancing stream cascaded down to meet a singing rill, but, disturbed in his feeding ground, he did not stop to gladden his discoverers but flew off down stream to a more sequestered place, though notes of his joyous song came back to the listeners.
"We did see him," said Nan in a satisfied manner, "but I would like to have heard more of his song."
The Douglas squirrel, for some reason, kept out of sight, so that all the glory of meeting him that day was Mary Lee's own.
She was very thoughtful during the homeward ride, and indeed in the presence of the mighty trees which towered above them, and in the company of the myriad flowers which carpeted the wayside one felt that the solemnity of a sanctuary forbade too much levity.
However their spirits were gay enough when they stopped on the roadside for supper. O'Neill built a rousing fire, produced his stores, made coffee and set forth a very fair meal for which their ride gave them a keen appetite.
"Talk about being hungry as a hunter," remarked Carter; "I am as hungry as two hunters."
"That sounds like the conundrum: What makes more noise than a pig under a gate?" said Nan.
"Are you casting any insinuations?" asked Carter.