“Well,” said Uncle Dick, chuckling, “I pushed pretty hard to-day, but I had to make up for that lost day we spent hunting goats. To tell the truth, I didn’t think we could get this far on to-day, and so I just count we’re even on the goat-hunt. Besides, we are now past the worst part of our troubles. To-morrow I promise you something worth all the hard work we’ve undergone.”
“What’s that?” demanded Jesse. “Some more hunting?”
“Certainly not. You’ve another guess, Jesse. Something better than that.”
“You don’t mean sheep or grizzly?”
“Something bigger than grizzly, even.”
“That,” said Rob, “must be a mountain.”
“Quite right. I’m going to show you the greatest mountain in all the Canadian Rockies, and one of the greatest mountains on this continent. It isn’t known very much to-day, but soon Mount Robson will be one of the show-places of this whole country. The Indians have always called it the biggest of all these mountains, time out of mind.”
“What time shall we see it?” inquired Rob.
“That depends a great deal. It’ll be about fourteen miles down the trail to the Grand Fork Valley. Looking right up that, we’ll be staring into the face of old Robson. I only hope the rain will be done by that time, so that the sun will shine and give us a fair view. It’s very rarely that one ever sees Mount Robson clear to the top. But sufficient for to-day are the evils, I presume. Let’s see if we can make ourselves comfortable in camp to-night.”
“One thing,” said John, that night, “this horse business isn’t going to last forever. I hope the Canoe River isn’t as bad as the Fraser, for I’m getting ready to get into a boat once more. I’ve changed my mind a little.”