On the first day, the route took them into a great valley, fed by streams which during the wet season gushed down the ravines with great force. Well-seasoned, the Scouts found the going no test of their endurance.
The trail became increasingly difficult on the second day. Before the Scouts had attained much altitude, Ken, who was leading, let out a yelp: “Rock slide ahead!”
There was no way around the barrier. Rocks had to be laboriously lifted and moved.
“This little jaunt may not be quite the breeze we pictured it,” Willie puffed, looking ruefully at his blistered hands. “It’s worth while though, if we learn what became of Burton Monahan.”
After hours of hard, tedious work, a path was cleared. Once more the expedition started on. Jack, however, could not get High Hat to budge. He coaxed the stubborn animal, prodded him with a stick and finally, in desperation, whacked him hard. The animal still refused to move.
“High Hat have bad habit—very bad,” Pedro informed him cheerfully. “When you make stop on trail, High Hat think time come to make camp.”
“Yeah! So I gathered!” Jack muttered in disgust. “How do I convince him otherwise?”
“Have to unload him, Senor. No other way.”
“For crying out loud!” Jack exploded. “I spent a long while this morning getting everything packed on his stupid back just the way I wanted it!”
“Spend much longer time here, unless Senor unpack.”