"Yes, but Chunky would not come out of it quite so well," spoke up
Tad.
"I reckon he'd break a rock or two on the way down," grinned Ned
Rector, clucking to his pony.
About four o'clock that afternoon Lige announced that they had arrived at their destination. Yet not a sign of Jose and the pack train could they find. He had not arrived.
The faces of the Pony Riders grew long at this, for the ride had given them an appetite that would not bear trifling with.
"What do you suppose has happened to the pack train, Mr. Thomas?" asked Tad.
"Probably been delayed by a pack slipping off. But don't you worry. Jose will be along in good time," smiled Lige.
However, in his own mind the guide believed that, while this might be possible, it was more likely that the cook had missed his way, and was now wandering about the mountains. It was too late to go in search of the missing outfit that day, so there was nothing to do but to wait until morning, then to start out after it, in case the straggler had not come in by then.
Lige told the boys to stake down their live stock and make themselves at home while he went out for an observation. In the meantime the boys also took the opportunity to look about them.
Their new location they found to be a sightly one. The wild and rugged reaches of the Rockies stretched away at their feet as far as the eye could see, the hills and low mountains rising in sheer slopes, broken by cliffs and riven by deeply cut and gloomy gorges.
The Pony Riders gazed upon the scene in awe—at least three of them did.