“And maybe the last,” laughed Billy. “It’ll sure be cold up in there, with no tent and not much bedding and none too much to eat. We’re above the trout line, up here, and not far to go to timber line, if you ask me.”
“Not so bad as that, Billy,” commented Jesse. “Nine thousand, ninety-five hundred—isn’t that about average timber line? We’re only eight thousand at our upper valley, and we’re not going to climb to the top of the peaks.”
“Well, I’m game if you all are,” said Billy. “We can make it through for one night, all right, for when the firewood runs out we can make camp and finish on foot.”
“Go on ahead, Jesse,” said Uncle Dick. “You’re the youngest. Let’s see how good a mountain man you are.”
“All right!” said Jesse, stoutly. “You see.” Accordingly, they rode on up, slowly, for a little distance, allowing the horses plenty of time to make their way among rocks and over fallen poles. At last Jesse came to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse for a way, until he brought up at the foot of such a tangle of down timber and piled boulders that he could not get on. He turned, his face red with chagrin. “Well,” he said, “I’ve never been here before. I guess a fellow has to figure it out.”
“You go ahead now, John,” laughed Uncle Dick. “Jess, fall to the rear; you’re in disgrace.”
“All right!” said John. “You watch me.”
This time John rode back downstream a little, until clear of the patch of heavy down timber. Then he turned and swung up above the bed of the stream, angling up on the side of the mountain, and finally heading close to the foot of a tall escarpment which barred the horses for a way. Here he hugged the cut face for a few yards and by good fortune found the way passable beyond for quite a distance.
“Not bad,” said his leader. “Go on. I see you’ve got the idea of distance for elevation.”
“Yes, sir,” said John. “But I’m like Jesse—I’ve never been here before, and I don’t know just where I’m going.”