“Well, son, your kicking may give you some satisfaction, but it won’t hurt the men that are writing the books.”
“No,” said Jack, “I guess not, but it’s a fraud all the same.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “it’s about time for us to turn in. Suppose you boys go out and catch two of the riding horses and picket them strongly, and I guess the others will stay with them until morning.”
The boys did this, and when they returned to camp all hands turned in for the night.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FORKS OF SWIFT CURRENT
DAYLIGHT was slow in breaking the next morning, and when the earliest riser came out of the tent he saw that the valley was filled with mist which hid the mountain peaks. It was fairly cold, and all hands were glad to wear their coats.
Hugh kindled the fire and began to get breakfast, while the boys went out and turned loose the picketed horses, finding all the animals together.
“No mosquitoes this morning, Jack,” said Joe, as they walked back to camp.
“No, indeed,” replied Jack. “Any mosquito that came out this morning would be likely to have his wings and beak frozen off. My, but it’s cold!” and he crowded close to the fire, stretching out his stiff wet hands to try to get some warmth into them.
“Yes,” said Hugh, “it’s pretty cold up here in the mountains. Ten miles down the creek, on the prairie, I bet the sun is shining hot.”