“What grand scenery this is!”
It was Oliver who uttered the exclamation. He rode beside Mr. Whyland, while Gus Gregory was directly behind. Cottle, the guide, was but a short distance ahead.
For six hours the little party had been journeying directly for the mountains far back of Sacramento City. The road for the present was a well-defined one, but Cottle said that before sundown it would become little better than a wagon-track.
“It will be as nice a road as any one wants to travel in a few years, I take it,” he added; “but I remember the time when there wasn’t even a respectable wagon-track. Times change rapidly out here.”
“One would hardly think that a handful of years ago this was little more than a wilderness,” said Mr. Whyland; “yet such is a fact. The earlier gold-hunters were indeed pioneers.”
“I wish I had been one of them,” put in Gus. “What excitement it must have been, expecting that every day would bring fortune!”
“It was exciting; but many a man would have done better to have remained at home.”
“You’re right there,” said Cottle. “I knew men that got reckless in the fever and never amounted to shucks after they came away. I’ve had my fill of it; and if I had my life to lead over again I think I would steer clear of prospecting.”
The three were now on good terms with the guide. They found him a rather peculiar individual, but thoroughly honest and obliging. He spent most of the day in describing the country through which they were passing, and Oliver never tired of listening to his words.