Rocky Mountain Boys; Or, Camping in the Big Game Country

by St. George Rathborne

Jo started back home after they had had lunch. Both boys noticed with some amusement that the boy's last fond look was in the direction of the wonderful coffeepot, from whence had come that rich, smooth, fragrant nectar that had so tickled his palate; doubtless they would see more of Jo while they lingered among the foothills of the Rockies; but they would always have their latchstring out for any one who was connected with old Charley Crow.

As we already know, Tom had not felt any undue anxiety concerning his chum until the hour grew late on that first night. Then he had thought to step out, and fire his gun several times; but as Felix had not heard the reports, it seemed that he must have been further away than anyone suspected; or that the wind was wrong.

In the morning Tom had started out in the direction he supposed Felix might be; hoping to come across signs of his friend. But the woods were wide, and apparently he could not at any time have come near the place where the other had had his adventures.

Returning at nightfall, Tom had hoped he would find the other at the dugout, and a keen disappointment awaited him. That night was a restless one for him. The second day had been a repetition of the first; and late in the afternoon, dispirited and weary, Tom had drawn near the vicinity of the shack, when he was electrified to see smoke oozing from the chimney.

One thing the incident had surely accomplished, and this was to acquaint the boys with the fact, if they had not realized it before, that they were unusually fond of each other. In many ways they were unlike; but it seemed that what one lacked the other could supply; and in this respect they made an ideal team for campmates. The right kind of a cheerful, willing and genial comrade, who will wear well in camp, is hard indeed to find. It appears that, no matter what a fellow may seem like at home, when he lands in the wilderness, the veneer is bound to drop off, and the true elements that go to make up his real nature are quickly apparent.

After securing the buck's head Felix was content to remain in camp for a short time; ostensibly with the idea of "curing" it, so that it might ornament his room at home; but to tell the plain, unvarnished truth, the boy was still very sore, and until this in a measure wore off, the prospects of a long jaunt through the woods and into the mountains failed to appeal to him very much.

This feeling began to gradually grow less positive as a couple of days passed, and finally there was no longer any excuse to hug the fire-side, because the buck's head had been prepared after a fashion that Tom said he had never seen beaten.

So Felix fell back into the rut, just as though there had been no break, sometimes accompanying his chum in the round of the traps, or doing that duty alone; and again going out to look for fresh game, with generally the best of success.

Doubtless, as the boy tramped through the snowy woods he sometimes found himself starting when he fancied he heard the coarse voices of the two unfaithful guides; or it might be a smile, as of amusement, would creep over his face when it happened that some particular tree awakened memories of the one into which he had been so neatly tossed by the wounded buck.

These experiences all go to make up life; and one learns more quickly from having passed through such actual performances than by mere reading; or even listening to what others may have accomplished, pleasant though this may seem. Felix believed he was a much better woodsman for having met and boldly faced the difficulties that had been spread like a net for his unwary feet on that occasion.