“Why do they call them Cascade?”
“On account of the torrents I was telling you of. I’ll show you some grand sights when we get among the mountains, for the road is to run between Mount Adams and Mount Hood, Blaikie told me; that is if Smoholler lets us get any further. We can never get out of this valley with our present force, if he tries to stop us. Let’s push on and take the timber there to the right. It’s pretty thick at the skirt of the cliff.”
The trees fringed the cliff half-way to its summit, a thick growth of spruce, fir, and cedar, and through this the hunter and the boys made their way with some difficulty, as the ground was rocky and uneven, and the dwarf cedars and firs sprung from every crevice of rock and patch of earth.
After a toilsome tramp of an hour they turned the base of the cliff, and emerged upon the other side of it. During their progress they started quite a quantity of game. A huge elk galloped away within easy range, and deer crossed their path several times, while numerous wild-fowl arose from their perches and went whining away.
The temptation to shoot was very great, and it was as much as Glyndon could do to restrain the boys.
“’Tain’t safe,” he told them. “Wait until we go back. I have an idea that there’s Injuns round here, and a rifle-shot would bring ’em on us quicker’n a wink.”
“But oh, what a lovely shot that elk was!” cried Percy Vere. “And such splendid horns. I would like to have them for a trophy.”
“Wait—there’s more of ’em. We must look for Injuns first.”
“That’s my idea!” cried Cute. “I’d rather have a scalp for a trophy than a pair of horns.”
Glyndon smiled, grimly.