“All right,” answered Moise, “I’ll stay here all summer. I’ll hope you get beeg sheep.”
Alex turned, and after the fashion of the Indians, did not say good-by when he left camp, but stalked off. The two boys, rifle in hand, followed him, imitating his dignity and not even looking back to wave a farewell to Jesse, who stood regarding them rather ruefully.
They had a stiff climb up the first ridge, which paralleled the stream, when the boys found their rifles quite heavy enough to carry. After a time, however, they came out at the top of a high plateau, where the undergrowth was not very thick and tall spruces stood more scattered. They could now see beyond them some high, bare ridges, that rose one back of the other, with white-topped peaks here and there.
“Good sheep country,” said Alex, after a time. “I think good for moose, and maybe caribou, too, lower down.”
“Yes, and good for something else,” cried Rob, who was running on a little in advance as the others stopped. “Look here!”
“There he goes in his moccasins,” said Alex. “Grizzly!”
“Yes, and a good big one, I should think,” said Rob. “Not as big as a Kadiak bear; but see, his foot sinks a long way into the ground, and it’s not very soft, either. Come on, Alex, let’s go after him.”
Alex walked over and examined the trail for a little while.
“Made yesterday morning,” he commented, “and traveling steadily. No telling where he is by this time, Mr. Rob. When an old white-face starts off he may go forty miles. Again, we might run across him or some other one in the first berry patch we come to. It seems to me surer to go on through with our sheep hunt.