They descended the last slope, and came to the creek that drained the lake, a fine, clear, cold current, flowing swiftly over a rocky bottom. After letting the horses drink they forded it, and rode on into the valley. Will noticed something white on the opposite slope, and examining it through his glasses saw that it was a foaming cascade.
"It's the stream that feeds the lake," he said. "It rushes down from the higher mountains, and here we have a beautiful waterfall. Nature has neglected nothing in preparing our happy valley, providing not only comfort and security but scenic beauty as well."
The hunter looked a moment or two at the waterfall, and the tremendous mountains about them with a careful eye.
"What is it, Jim?" asked Will.
"I'm looking for tracks."
"What tracks? You said we wouldn't find any Sioux in here."
"Not the footprints of the Sioux."
"It's not in the range of the Crows, Blackfeet or Assiniboines. Surely you don't expect them."
"I don't expect Crows, Blackfeet or Assiniboines."
"Then what do you expect?"