After descending the last rampart of the Goré Range, the scouts heard Tally speak confidently of the locality they were in, but Mr. Gilroy seemed to differ with the guide.
“Me think us mos’ here,” insisted the Indian.
“Maybe you’re right! I was mistaken before, so I’ll give in,” laughed Mr. Gilroy.
“What is it, Gilly?” asked some of the scouts.
“Tally says we are nearly at Steamboat Springs, and I say we are not. Now we will see who is right!”
They had not gone much farther along the trail, however, before the scouts discovered strawberries! Great luscious wild berries they were, and growing profusely everywhere in the grass.
“I guess Tally was right,” admitted Mr. Gilroy. “We’re in the wonderful strawberry belt that is so famous about Steamboat Springs.”
Colorado strawberries are as famous, throughout the West, as the Rockyford melons are in the East; so the scouts made the most of their opportunity to eat the delicious berries while they were at the Springs. They visited the plants where berries are packed and shipped, and also visited a factory where jams were prepared.
This progressive little town, although so young, compared favorably with the larger cities of the East. It was equipped with electric light, telephones, paved streets, first-class public service, and other modern welfare improvements.
The evening after the scouts had visited the packing-houses that shipped strawberries to the markets, Mr. Gilroy sat studying a large map. Julie kept silent for a long time (for her) and finally spoke.