“Good work, Billy!” said Rob, as he helped cast off the lash rope. “She hasn’t slipped an inch.”
“More’n I can say,” rejoined Billy. “I slipped a good many times, coming up, and barked my shins more’n an inch, I’m thinking.”
“Lead off, Jess,” said Uncle Dick, as they stood ready for the last march. “No, don’t leave your coat; it will soon be cold, and it is always cold in the mountains when you stop walking. And you all have your match boxes?”
“Why, Uncle Dick,” expostulated Jesse, “it’s just over there, and we won’t need any fire there, for we’re coming right back.”
“But, Jesse, haven’t I told you always in new country to travel with matches and a hatchet, or at least a knife? No man can tell when he may get hurt or lost in mountain work, and then a fire is his first need. It’s all right to know how to make a fire by friction, Indian way, but you can’t always do that, and matches are surer and quicker. Never leave them.”
They set out, their leader now in advance, Billy bringing up the rear. Skirting the edge of the marshlike depression which acted as a holding cup for the upper snows, they at last headed it and caught the ultimate trickle that came in beyond it. This, following the example of their late hostess, they rapidly ascended, until at last, by a clump of dark balsam trees, high up toward the white top of Jefferson, where a light snow had fallen not long before, even in the summertime, they picked out the dark rock from under which a tiny thread of water, icy cold and sufficiently continuous to be called perennial, issued and began its way to a definite and permanent channel.
Without any comment, each one of the party, almost unconsciously, removed his hat. A feeling almost of awe fell upon them as they stood in that wild, remote, silent and sheltered spot, unknown and unnoted of the busy world, which now they knew was the very head spring of the greatest waterway of all the world.
“’Shun!” barked Uncle Dick. The three boys fell into line, heels together, in the position of the soldier, Billy following suit. Uncle Dick drew from his pocket a tiny, folded flag, no more than four or five inches in its longest dimension, and pinned it on a twig which he placed upright at the side of the spring.
“Colors!” Sharply Uncle Dick’s hand swept to his eyes, in the army salute. And the hand of every one of the others followed. Then, with swung hat, Rob led them with the Scouts’ cheer.