“Vote yes, in the circumstances,” said John. “Hate to quit her, though!”
“You, Jess?”
“Oh, all right, I’ll haul off if the rest do. We’ll get to fish some, won’t we?”
“All you want. The best trout and grayling fishing there is left anywhere.”
“It’s a vote, Uncle Dick!” said Rob. “This is our head camp on this leg of the trip.”
“I think that’s wise,” said Uncle Dick.
“But before we leave here I want you to have a last look at the map.”
They spread it open in the firelight.
“This point is where Clark came and got the canoes the next year, 1806. They came back over the Lolo, but took a short cut, east of this mountain range, forty miles east of the other trail. They came over the Gibbon Pass—which ought to be called Clark’s Pass and isn’t—and headed southeast, the Indian girl being of use again now. They came down Grasshopper Creek, walking over millions of dollars of gold gravel, and found their canoes, not over a few hundred yards from where we sit, like enough.