“That’s east,” said Westy. “We’re all right, the road goes south and if it stops going south, we’ll know it.”
“If it’s the kind of a road that does one thing one day and another thing the next day I have no use for it anyway,” said Warde.
“When it’s twelve o’clock I know a way to tell what time it is,” said Ed. “Remind me when it’s twelve o’clock and I’ll show you.”
The sun, which had not shown its face during the whole of the previous day, brightened the journey and raised the hopes of the travelers. To Westy, now that they were started along the road and everything seemed bright, their little enterprise seemed all too easy. He was even afraid that the road went straight to the Gardiner entrance of the park. He wanted to encounter some obstacles. He wanted this thing to have something of the character of an exploit.
Poor Westy, thirty miles over a wild country seemed not very much to him. It would be just about a two-days’ hike. But he cherished a little picture in his mind. He hoped that Mr. Madison C. Wilde would be still at the Mammoth Hotel when he and his companions reached there, having traversed—having traversed—thirty miles of—having forced Nature to yield up——
“We can catch some trout and eat them, all right,” he said aloud.
“Oh, we can eat them, all right,” said Ed. “When it comes to eating trout, I’ll take a handicap with any Indian youth and beat him to it.”
“It’s going to be pleasant to-night,” said Westy. “We can just sleep under a tree.”
“I hope it won’t be too pleasant,” said Ed.
“You make me tired,” laughed Westy.