Sergeant Hal Overton's hunting detachment of the Thirty-fourth was now encamped up in the highest points, almost, of all the Colorado Rockies.
Entraining, the party had gone some sixty miles over the rails. At the station where the men detrained two heavy Army wagons had been awaiting them, these wagons having been sent on two days ahead.
On the first day after leaving the railway the hunting detachment had marched some eighteen miles; on the second day fifteen miles had been covered, and now camp was pitched more than ninety miles from Fort Clowdry.
The little village of wall tents stood some fifty feet away from where Privates Slosson and Kelly were now busy getting the evening meal.
There was still about an hour of daylight left. It was not expected that many of the hunters would be in much before the sun went down behind the western tops.
"It's chilly to-night," announced Sergeant Terry, standing back and watching the two soldiers at work.
"It's hot," grumbled Slosson, piling on more wood and stirring one of the open cook fires.
"All a matter of where you happen to be standing," laughed Noll, diving into the tent that he and Hal occupied. When Sergeant Terry came out again he had on his olive tan overcoat.
Three days of incessant hunting had been indulged in. "Enjoyed" would have been the word, only that so far the men of the detachment had not struck very heavy luck with the game.
It was not Hal's fault. He, confessedly, was not an experienced hunter in the Rockies. Corporal Hyman was an old hand at the hunt, and there were other soldiers in the detachment who could find the wild game when there was any to be found. Up to date, however, the game had been scarce. A few mountain antelope and some smaller animals—but these the hungry hunters had eaten as fast as they bagged.