“I should say so!” chuckled Rick. “That time we both nearly fell—I thought sure they’d hear us.”
“So did I. But I reckon we’re all right now.”
“I guess so.”
They had come out from under a clump of trees and were walking along a rough trail that led up the mountain. The moon shone gloriously making objects very plain to see. There was little wind and soon the boys heard the murmur of water off to their left—a sound for which eagerly they had been listening.
“There’s the river,” exclaimed Chot.
“I hear it,” admitted Rick. “Either the one we’re after or another. Let’s head over that way.”
They walked on side by side, with Ruddy trailing them. Rick had ordered his dog to heel, for he did not want the setter rushing on ahead through the brush, perhaps stirring up a skunk or some small wild animal that might cause the dog to bark, thus betraying their presence.
As they went on, the noise of the water became louder to their ears, until at last they emerged in view of a beautiful stream flowing in the centre of a small valley, bordered on either side by trees and bushes.
Though the stream was called Lost River, or by various other names in which the word “river” occurred, it must not be supposed that it was a large waterway. In fact it was not more than a good-sized brook, in places, though in others it attained the width of what, in some parts of the country, is called a creek. But Lost River it had been christened and so it shall remain, as far as I am concerned.
The boys stood for a moment impressed by the beauty of the scene that they had come upon. Under the moon everything was glorified—the rippling, sparkling water, the trees, the bushes and even the rough rocks.