By the time Mr. Gilroy came up the long steep hill, every scout had had a good laugh at the appearance he made while climbing, and the Captain had taken several funny snapshots of him.
Upon reaching the wagon, Mr. Gilroy sighed, “Well, I am not sure which was worse—Tally’s ride or that walk!”
“Um—him walk, badder of all!” grinned the Indian.
The scouts rolled up the side curtains of the wagon that they could admire the view as they passed. And with every one feeling resigned to a mild shaking as compared to the last capers of the four horses, the journey was resumed.
Great overhanging boulders looked ready to roll down upon and crush such pigmies as these that crawled along the road under them. Then, here and there, swift, laughing streams leaped over the rocks to fall down many, many hundreds of feet into the gorges riven between the cliffs. The falling waters sprayed everything and made of the mist a veritable bridal-veil of shimmering, shining white.
“Tally, shall we reach Boulder to-night?” asked Mr. Gilroy, gazing at the fast-falling twilight.
“Late bimeby,” Tally said, shrugging his shoulders to express his uncertainty.
“Well, then, if we are going to be late, and as the way is not too smooth, I propose we pitch camp for the night. What say you?” suggested Mr. Gilroy, turning to hear the verdict of the scouts.
“Oh, that will be more fun than stopping at a hotel in Boulder!” exclaimed the Leader, the other girls agreeing with her.
“Very well, Gilly; let us find a suitable place for camp,” added the Captain.