“It may be more difficult than you think,” Dick was of the opinion. “The sun will be up in an hour, and it won’t take long to dry things off.”
Their course away from the river—almost due west—led them across a rolling plain in the direction of a high range of hills, beyond which were the mountains. With the coming of daylight, they discerned the gray outline of the nearest hill, not more than two miles away.
The hill was steep and wide, more like a lofty plateau than a hill. Trees and vegetation covered its lower portion, but towards its summit the earth and rocks were perfectly bare.
“We’re going to have a good, stiff climb,” Dick remarked. “Do you feel equal to it, Sandy?”
The person addressed shifted his pack over chafed and burning shoulders.
“If I had something to eat, I could make it better.”
“No eat ’till we get to top,” said Toma. “We hide better up there. Indians see where we are if stop here.”
It took an hour of exhausting effort to make the ascent. Very much out of breath, limbs shaking with weariness, they stumbled forward a few paces, then threw off their shoulder-packs and proceeded to bring forth the meagre store of food that remained to them. Dick divided a bannock and a small chunk of bacon.
“We’ll have to eat the bacon raw,” he declared, a slight quaver in his voice. “There’s no firewood here.”
“Or water either that I can see,” added Sandy. “It’s a good thing we filled our water bottles on the way over.”