Walking pained Oliver considerably, and he was glad enough when he could sink once more into his easy saddle. Then the guide went to the front, and the onward journey was resumed.
By two o’clock in the afternoon they had passed around the northern base of the mountain, and were entering a long and narrow valley. Before them loomed a long, low range of hills, and Cottle said that the Aurora mine was located just beyond, and about forty miles to the north-east.
The scenery upon all sides was magnificent, and had Oliver’s mind been free from anxiety, and his body without pain, he would have enjoyed it to the fullest extent. Even as it was, he sometimes reined up his mule to drink in the prospect.
“Beats the East all to bits!” he said to Gus as they rode side by side.
“You are right. I would rather take a trip about here than go to Europe ten times over.”
“And yet you will find thousands of people who prefer the latter trip,” put in Mr. Whyland. “Some have gone to Europe half a dozen times and never come West once.”
“I guess they go because it’s the style,” suggested Cottle. “But as for me, Uncle Sam’s domain is good enough every time.”
The riding was now much easier and all hands urged the mules to a better gait.
“If we can, we will make Billy Ford’s cabin before we halt,” said the guide.