"We didn't. Some one else has done that. Keep your eyes open, Gentle Wild Cat."
Hiram did this, and presently began to see ruts had been filled in repeatedly and the marks left by boulders that had been snaked to the edge of the precipice and allowed to thunder down a cañon.
This continued all the way to the summit, where they camped for a late nooning beside the mountain lake.
When they took up the journey again, and had reached a point half a mile beyond the lake, came upon a lone touring car and a little camp. Frequently now Hiram looked back, to see perplexity and worry on the usually placid brow of Jerkline Jo. A half mile beyond the camp they found seven men working with ax and pick and shovel, repairing the road.
Jo set the heavy brake and called to her ten to stop. Hearing her command, Hiram also halted his blacks. The rest of the skinners moved on slowly down the mountain, looking back for Jo's signal for them to stop. She gave none, however, so they continued on.
"Who is repairing this road, please?" Jo called from her wagon to a group of men.
One of them approached her a few steps. "Fella called Drummond," he replied.
"Isn't he the automobile-truck man from San Francisco?"
"Yeah."
"Is he here?"