The guide grinned and resumed his study of the trail. Hippy had thought there might be opportunity to draw Hamilton White out as to his career. The Overlander was positive that it would prove an interesting story, but no opportunity presented itself on this occasion, so Hippy prudently kept his questions to himself. Emma, however, kept up an almost continuous chatter all the morning and most of the afternoon.
As the day waned, they began urging their horses to a faster pace, White explaining that he wished to reach a certain camp-site that day. He said it would make an ideal Sunday rest camp.
“Do you think we shall be safe there?” questioned Emma. “Oh, I hope so, Hamilton.”
“As safe there as anywhere up here—perhaps more so, for we shall be on high ground where nothing can get to us, at least in daylight, without our observing the approach.”
“You know the place, then?” suggested Hippy. “Have you been there before?”
“No.” The answer was brief and final, and Hippy wondered how Ham could know about a particular spot in the forest, and lead them directly to it if he never had been there. Hippy could find no answer to that.
The Overland Riders reached the site just before sundown. The country about them was mountainous and heavily forested. Back of the camp towered a huge rock. A little way from it was a smooth level spot, and bubbling from the rock itself there came a stream of water almost at ice temperature, as they discovered when drinking cups were brought and all hands helped themselves.
“Oh!” cried Grace. “Is there any drink in the world to equal it?”
“Not now,” answered Hippy Wingate.
“And never has been,” nodded Miss Briggs.