Trent woke to a sound of laughter—peal after peal on the morning air. He sat up, listened, looked at his watch, sprang up and dressed. He went out around the cabin to the spot from which the laughter came, punctuated by a strange and unidentified noise. A slight boy in khaki breeches, shirt, and boots, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down on his head, was conversing with a small gray burro, who lifted his long neck and emitted unearthly sounds, at which the boy laughed.
"If that pet belongs to you, young man, you might lead him off my premises."
"He's singing a hymn to the rising sun," said Bob, turning to him.
"My word, you are Bob sure enough now," he exclaimed.
"Comfy! No matter, you men like it."
"We certainly like it on you," he remarked in surprised admiration.
"Here's Bill," she interrupted him, as the guide rode up leading the ponies. He stared at Bob with delight.
"Got an extry boy in this party, ain't we? How many of ye is there?"
"According to my appetite there's six of me," she laughed. "I can't wait to go up any mountain before breakfast."
"Wa'al, I got to thinkin' 'bout that, and I jest made a camp up the trail 'bout a mile, and the coffee's bilin' right now. Git yer blankets and knapsacks out, and we'll strop 'em on, an' git up there before it biles over."