Early next morning Carlito was waiting for them at an appointed place with an Indian pack pony. By seven o'clock all the party had assembled, including Fly, who had succeeded in begging off from work. Each of the boys had a stock of provisions, a coat as a preparation for the cold of higher altitudes, fishing tackle, lines and rods, all of which Carlito strapped on the back and sides of the pony. Each of the boys and Hawke wore a cartridge belt and carried a stout stick to aid in climbing. Herb had a brand new service revolver. Fred, Jerry and Hawke carried guns, Carl carried a bow and arrow, while the others brought rifles. Fred had a camera and Jerry a field glass.
After an hour's tramp they reached the mountains. Lower down the slopes the ascent was easy. Patches had been worn by the feet of many travelers, here and there stepping stones had been roughly cut, no telling how many generations ago, and other rude steps had been formed by piling comparatively symmetrical stones upon each other. There were numbers of deserted cliff dwellings along the ledges, tucked in under overhanging rocks, and, higher up, perched in perilous spots over deep ravines and rushing torrents. The largest part of the snow had melted by this time, and the mountain streams were swollen to their utmost. Farther down, their descent was not so remarkable, but before the day was over, the party stood awestruck on the side of many a rocky cliff and looked below at foaming, seething waters, dashing down the rocky ways.
They had not gone far when they came across a group of Indians, of which Tommy was one, squatting on the ground, gambling. There were two squaws in the group, and they, like the men, were smoking. They were playing the stave game, Carl explained, and sat, with stolid faces, throwing their sticks in turn. Occasionally they would allow themselves a grunt of approval or displeasure, as their luck prompted.
"How's it going?" Carlito asked Tommy, in Mexican.
The Indian shook his head in reply, while one of the others grinned.
After watching them awhile, Carlito, followed by the others, started on.
This was practically Fred's first mountain journey, and he was very much worked up over the event. The cliff dwellings interested him exceedingly, and he wanted to explore them all, no matter how dangerous their approach. He had the eastern boy's desire for relics and kodak pictures, and in a short while his pockets were half filled with stones and other things picked up along the way.
"Gee, I wish we could get into that one," he said, pointing to a particularly lofty cliff dwelling, separated from them by a somewhat narrow, but deep ravine, and almost hidden by a great projecting rock and overgrown poplars. But when he worked nearer to the edge, and saw the rushing water below, and the sharp, jagged rocks that lined the ravine, he was dissuaded from the idea and satisfied himself by taking a picture of it.
"A little farther up there's a dandy place to fish," said Carl. "The water runs easy for quite a ways, and there's lots of trout waiting to be caught."
"Head for that," commanded Fly, scrambling over a cactus bush which he had not noticed. "Ow, wow!" he yelled, as some of the sharp thorns grazed his palm.