“Humph! Isn’t that about the way Lewis and Clark were fixed, only all the way across?” scoffed Uncle Dick. “Go ahead, and if we have to get down and lead, I’ll put Rob ahead, or Billy.”
John gritted his teeth and spurred up his horse. “You give me time,” said he, “and I’ll take you up there.”
He did pursue his edging away from the stream until he could no longer see the exact course. At last he pulled up. “We must have climbed three hundred feet,” said he. “Where is it?”
“What do you say, Rob?” asked Uncle Dick.
“I’ll stay behind and see that Mr. Pack Horse comes,” replied Rob. “But I should think we might angle down a little now, because we’re going up the wrong split. It’s two-thirty o’clock, now, and we ought to raise the Hole pretty soon. I’d say off to the right a little now, wouldn’t you, Billy, till we raised the Hole for sure?”
Billy nodded, and presently set out ahead. His practiced eye found a way through the hard going until at last they stood, at the left and above the stream’s entrance into a roughly circular little depression, surrounded by a broken rim of high peaks.
“Here she is, fellows!” exclaimed Uncle Dick. “This is what we’ve been looking for! Yonder’s the thread of the water, headed for New Orleans and the last jetty of the Mississippi. What’s your pleasure now?”
“Well, sir,” said Rob, who had for some time been afoot, leading his own horse and driving the pack horse ahead, “why not throw off here and finish her on foot, to the clean head, where Mrs. Culver left her tin plate? Here’s a trickle of water and enough wood for fire, and the horses can get enough feed to last them for one night.”
“All right,” said Uncle Dick. “It’s all in plain sight and we can’t lose our horses, especially if we halter them all tight till we get back.”
They now all dismounted and made their animals fast to the trees and stout bushes, first unlashing the pack.