“Jolt wait nex’ uphill.”
When the scouts reached the bottom of the descent, they found a swiftly-running shallow stream crossing the trail. And in this, with both packs submerged, but with head safely held above the cooling water, Jolt was stretched out.
“There he would stay, I suppose, until he was sure the queer life that made the jangle on his back, was snuffed out,” said Mr. Gilroy, chuckling at the mule’s “horse-sense.”
That day when they stopped to cook dinner, Tally was most careful to leave the pack-frames on the backs of the mules, as that would prevent fresh arguments when the time came to resume the trip.
Fish abounded everywhere,—in the streams, in the lakes, or in the wayside rivulets,—so that there was never a lack of such food. Nor did it need expert anglers to catch the fish. It seemed to the scouts that the poor things were only waiting eagerly to be caught.
Having selected the camp site, Tally suddenly stooped and examined some recently made tracks. “Bear ben here,” said he.
“Oh, a real live bear?” cried Joan.
“Did you think a dead one made those tracks?” retorted Ruth.
“I wish we could see him,” said Julie, and this wish was seconded by all the other girls.
“If you want a close acquaintance with him, just follow that track. Doubtless he is sitting behind a treetrunk this very minute, planning what to do with you after he has embraced you fondly,” said Mrs. Vernon.