“Well, I do hope it won’t be the ruination of you boys, making you so important.”
“This don’t look much like it,” laughed Phil pointing to his fishing clothes which he was packing in a suit case. “In spite of our luxurious surroundings I’m fittin’ out just as if I were goin’ into the woods for deer.”
Phil’s outfit was not elaborate: extra suits of woolen underclothing; two gray flannel shirts; an old Norfolk jacket with cartridge pockets; laced waterproof boots that reached to the knees; buckskin mittens with a trigger finger; a cap with ear tabs; a soft cloth hat; his shotgun and a box of loaded shells; a rod and fish-box.
“I don’t think you’ll need the shotgun as much as you will a rifle,” suggested Frank. “As for the trout rod and flies, what are you goin’ to do with them in the mountains?”
“Like as not you’re right. But the fact is, old man,” said Phil puckering his lips, “I haven’t a rifle, except father’s old Long Tom and that’s too heavy and big to be taken. As for the rod—you wait. Those mountain streams are the real trout factories and I expect to land many a breakfast with this old rod.”
“Well, I’ll take father’s old single shot rifle—I haven’t anything of my own,” said Frank. “That’ll do for both of us. And you take the fishin’ outfit.”
The same sorting of equipment took place at Frank’s home a little later. Mrs. Graham offered many suggestions of needed additions, all of which the boys rejected except a small medicine kit which they accepted with a half protest. The boys, having finished the packing of Frank’s bag and case, washed up and withdrew to the lawn to hold their last council of war.
Can any boy, eager for travel and adventure, imagine a more pleasant moment? To Frank especially the possibilities of the near future were already unrolling a panorama of all that he had read and dreamed—the great wonderland of America into which he and Phil were about to plunge. Not all Europe, he explained to Phil, contained more awe inspiring and sublime scenery.
“Uncle said we are going to Fernie, across the line in British Columbia,” explained Frank as he and his chum made themselves comfortable on the grass. “He can go two ways; by the United States or through Canada. But, whichever way he goes, we’ll end up in a bunch of scenery that’ll open your eyes.”
“If there are mountain goats and Bighorn sheep there I suppose there’ll be a mountain,” suggested Phil.