Will was among the horses and mules in an instant, stroking them, whispering to them, and soothing them. He was also half through with the task of replacing the packs when Boyd and Bent came. The rest done, they started up the steep natural trail, fortunately hidden at that point from any watchers below. Boyd led, picking the way, Will was among the animals and the Little Giant, with the rifle that never missed, covered the rear.
Higher and higher they went, and, when day broke, they were once more in the scrub pines and cedars, with a cold wind blowing and nipping at their ears and noses. But Boyd, who went far back on the trail, could discover no sign of Felton's band, and they concluded to make camp.
"We've all been tried enough for one night," said Boyd. "Men, horses and mules alike need fresh breath and new nerves."
But before they could find a suitable place it began to rain, not a sweeping storm, but the cold, penetrating drizzle of great heights. Now their bearskin coats protected them in part, but the animals shivered, and the way became so slippery that they had to advance on those heights with exceeding caution and slowness. The rain soon turned to snow, and then back to rain again, but the happy temperament of the Little Giant was able to extract consolation from it.
"Snow and rain together will hide what trace of a trail we may leave," he said. "Ef this keeps up, Felton and his gang will never be able to find us again."
Despite the great dangers of the advance they pushed on upward until they came to a region that Will believed must be above the clouds. At least, it was free there from both rain and snow, and below him he saw such vast areas of mists and vapors that the top of the ridge seemed to swim in the air. It was now about noon, and, at last, finding a nearly level place, they sank down upon it, exhausted.
Nevertheless, the Little Giant was cheerful.
"I'm clean furgittin' all 'bout that gold," he said, "my time now bein' devoted mostly to foot races, tryin' to beat out Indians, outlaws an' all sorts o' desprit characters, in which I hev been successful so fur. My real trade jest now is that o' runner an' mounting climber, an' I expect to git a gold medal fur the same."
He began to whistle in the most wonderful, birdlike fashion, a clear, sweet volume of sound, one popular air of the time following another, every one delivered in such perfect fashion that Will forgot the wet and the cold in the pleasure of listening.
"Now," said Boyd, "there's nothing for it but to start a fire, even though it may show where we are. But we have an advantage in being above the clouds and mists. Then, if the outlaws come we can see 'em coming, though I think our trail is wholly lost to 'em."