The first valley we came to we rejected for lack of wood. The second was forested, but showed no sign of attracting over-much game. The third was too inaccessible. But after a fortnight of zigzag wanderings we entered by accident a valley which promised all the attractions we desired. It reminded us of the vale in the Sky Mountains through which we had crossed to their Western side. Like that it offered a contrast of forest and savannah. A small river wound down its center. Snow-capped peaks rose all around it. The tameness of its wild inhabitants proved they had never been hunted by man.
We made our camp in the neck of the miniature pass by which the valley communicated with the outside world, happy in the confidence that at last we were assured a resting-place where we might forget for a season the feverish impulses that had hurled us so far from what we each called home. And that night, as we shivered in the wind that blew off the glaciers we had consolation in planning the snug cabin we would contrive in some elbow of the hillside, with a fireplace of mud and bowlders fetched from the river's bed.
We cast lots the next morning, using grass-blades, long and short, to divide the first day's work. And it so fell out that Tawannears must do the hunting, which was necessary to insure us ample food and to start the collection of hides we should need—and we were all three glad of this because he was our best bowman, and we could not afford to use our fast-dwindling stock of powder and lead to fill our bellies. Peter and I were to explore the valley's length, especially with a view to determining a site for the cabin.
It was a glorious day, the sun shining warmly and the wind crisp and invigorating. Footsore and tired as we were, we started upon our errands at a swinging lope, and I shouted a cheery good-by to Tawannears as he disappeared into the standing timber below the little pass, and Peter and I undertook to climb to a narrow shelf of level land that formed a platform midway of the valley's gently-sloping Southern wall. From here we could secure a sweeping view of that side of our domain and likewise gain some idea of the opposite wall which we intended to examine on our way home. Tawannears replied to me with the hunting-whoop, and Peter joined my answering yelp. Then we were alone, only the crackling branches underfoot and the crashing of deer, antelope and wild sheep in the thickets to interrupt our silent progress.
The valley was a broad ellipse in shape, and the encircling hills were terraced by such shelves as the one we trod. We did not keep to it of course, but climbed down or up as the case might be, to examine features of the landscape. But for the most part we held to the hillside, for in the valley-bottom the forest trees obscured the country twenty feet away—except in the occasional savannahs or parks that bordered the river's banks. I think we had traveled all of two French leagues when we came to a place where the shelf on the hillside became a rocky ledge, strewn with pebbles, and a raw out-crop of rock overshadowed it. Peter, in the lead, hesitated, his rifle at the trail, and sniffed the air.
"Make haste," I exclaimed impatiently. "It grows toward noon, and we have to compass the valley before dark."
"I smell something," he returned.
"Smell something!" I laughed. "Sure, man, I can smell a dozen forest odors."
"I smell beast," said Peter gravely.
This made me laugh the more, and I thrust myself in front of the Dutchman and took up the blind trail at a dogtrot.