“Don’t wolly till to-mollow,” imitated Stacy Brown. “Woo, got anything loose about the house? I’ve been living on pink snow for so long that I feel like a snowbird in distress. Food is what my system demands.”
“A bird, did you say?” questioned Emma. “I agree with you that you are something of a bird, but not of the snowbird species.”
Grace was the only one of the party who believed that their guide really had seen a human being spying on the camp. The others, after some discussion, dismissed the matter from mind, and devoted their attention to the supper which Woo had prepared and served. A much more comfortable night was spent in this lower altitude, and, with the rising of the sun, the Overlanders prepared to resume their journey.
The party was still at a considerable elevation above the lake, which had sunk out of sight as if it had never existed, due to the fact that huge granite shelves intervened between them and the mysterious water. They judged that the lake must lie at an elevation of close to eight thousand feet above sea level.
“I smell something,” exclaimed Hippy as they were dismounting for luncheon and a rest that day.
“So do I,” agreed Stacy Brown. “Someone is baking bread and using salt yeast. Lead me to it, quick!”
“What you smell is a dead campfire,” Tom Gray informed the fat boy. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, the fire has not been out long, either. Come on, folks, help me to find it. It may give us some information that we need.”
By proceeding against the gentle breeze that was blowing they were enabled, after considerable searching about, to locate the dead campfire.
“Here it is!” cried Tom, scraping aside a cover of leaves and grass that had been spread over the ashes to hide the tell-tale evidence. “See! The embers have been kicked aside and water poured over them. It is the water poured on the fire that produces the strong odor that we smell.”
“How long ago was that done, do you think?” asked Hippy.