Up and up, and on and on they went over the rough mountain trail, for they had to ascend to a height of about fifteen hundred feet to reach the reservation owned by a company which had divided it into camps and bungalows.
“My, but it is dark!” said Cora, after a period of silence.
A lantern was slung under the buckboard, and cast gleams of light on the ground, but the darkness seemed only blacker by contrast. The horses, however, did not seem to find any difficulties in making their way. They never stumbled, though the boys and girls tried in vain to distinguish anything like a road ahead of them. The wagon was going along in a lane of trees, which in most places met in an arch overhead, thus cutting off what little light might have come from the stars.
Occasionally there would be a break in this leafy arch, and then glimpses could be had of the star-studded sky above. It was a beautifully clear evening, and warm enough to be comfortable.
Now and then Jim Dobson spoke without being asked a question, but he was not unduly talkative. He seemed to enjoy the chatter of the young folks, chuckling now and then at some of their remarks.
As for Cora and the others they talked about everything imaginable, as you may well imagine, from the latest dance steps to what they would do now that they were really starting their summer vacation.
“Is there any golf up here?” asked Bess, who had taken up the sport to “reduce.”
“Well, not enough to hurt,” the driver said. “Once in a while I hear of a case, but it ain’t nothing like as bad as hay fever, and there’s none of that here.”
“Mercy!” whispered Bess to Cora. “I guess he thinks golf is a disease!”
“Well, don’t say anything. He’s real nice.”