They followed his gesture and for a moment stood silent with him.
“It’s the Rockies!” said they, almost in unison.
The clouds had now broken away late in the afternoon, and for the first time they could see across the wide expanse of forest lands which stretched unbroken to the northward and westward, the low white line of the great backbone of the continent—the Rockies, land of mystery and adventure for bold souls since history began in this part of our continent. The boys stood silent for quite a while, absorbed in the vision of the distant hills and the thoughts which the sight awakened in their hearts.
“I’d like to take the trail again to-night,” said Rob, as though to himself. “I can hardly wait.”
“They’re fine little old hills, aren’t they?” said John. “I wish we could go farther toward them, every day. I want to get over to where the water starts west.”
“Yes,” added Jesse, “and see where old Yellowhead himself made his camp a hundred years ago.”
“Well, Jess,” said John, “you can go as Yellowhead, Junior, maybe, because your hair is sort of red, anyway. But I wonder where Uncle Dick and Moise have got to; they ought to be in by now, with the extra horses from the village.”
“Trust Moise to be in on time for supper,” said Rob. “Come on and let’s get the rest of the wood for to-night.”
They turned now toward the tasks of the camp, work with which they were familiar, Jesse carrying some more wood, and John, whose turn it was to bring in the water, starting once more down the steep slope to the little creek which lay below them. Rob, who had completed his portion of the camp labor, still stood silent, apparently forgetful of all about him, staring steadily at the low broken line of white which marked the summit of the Rockies and the head of the great Athabasca River which lay on beyond to the westward.