"You'd better!" said John threateningly. "I thought I was done for, when I got lost too. I thought of Fremont and Kit Carson and the Forty-niners and all the old chaps that came out over the Santa Fe trail. I have heard my father tell what fights they had with the Indians and how their water and supplies ran low and all that, but if any of them had any harder time than I had then I'm sorry for him, that's all. There was just one thing that made me hang to it."
"What was that?" inquired Grant.
"Why it was what my father had told me. He said that the difference between men isn't very much,—I mean what makes one man succeed and another man fail. He says it's just that little difference though that counts. I remember he told me about one of his classmates in college who was the brightest fellow in the class. He started in all right on any line of work, but just before the job was all ready to be clinched he usually gave up. My father says that is the way it is with men. They may be all right up to the last point, but that last point is the one that counts. That's the 'final punch' that counts most."
"Well, I'm glad you got out of it all right anyway," said Fred cordially. "Did you see any bears or mountain lions or snakes."
"Not one, but I saw some lizards which scared me almost as much as if they had been rattlers. They were ten or twelve inches long. They had a funny way of running and every few steps would turn around and look at me."
"I'm not surprised," said Grant soberly, breaking in upon the conversation. "I understand precisely the feeling of those lizards. There's only one of your kind in all the world."
"You're right for once in your life," retorted John. "Now tell me," he added, "what your plans are. What is the next thing to be done?"
"Now that little Johnnie has arrived," laughed Grant, "I think the best thing we can do, if Zeke and Pete agree, is to stay here to-night and start on early to-morrow morning."
"Start where?" demanded John.
"Why for Simon Moultrie's claim."