“We came for that,” said Rob.
“You couldn’t climb up the cañon all the way, maybe. Do you think you could get up over the mountain, the way we did?”
“You don’t know these boys,” remarked Uncle Dick to her. “They’re old mountain climbers and can go anywhere.”
“They’d want a guide, and I couldn’t go, now. And they’d want horses.”
“Well, we’ll leave out the guide, and we could leave out the horses, like enough, for we can go to the foot of the mountain in the car. But on the whole I can think we’ll ride up, for a change.”
“You can get horses down at the ranch a little way. I have none here now.”
“All right. To-morrow we’ll outfit for the climb.”
“Well, I rode all the way. Now you go on the shoulder of this mountain back of us, above the spring, and work up the best you can, but keep your eye on Jefferson. Get up right high, before you head across to the cañon of the Missouri, so you can be above the high cliff that you can’t get over in the bed of the stream. Then you go down in the cañon and cross, best you can, and then ride up on the far side, and then work off for the top of Jefferson.
“You’ll know the little bowl on top the mountain. That’s the top sponge. But the real head stream is even beyond that. You’ll find my tin plate there, I guess, with my name and date.
“I’m glad you had some good fishing here. We’ll have some of your trout for breakfast. The feather beds are made from wild-goose and duck feathers. It’s been a great country for them.”