Dugan's sour expression relaxed, and he laughed loudly.
The road led across a rolling valley, and Bob Somers drew an involuntary breath of admiration as the ever-changing panorama opened out before him. Rugged forms on the mountains gradually grew more distinct, until the rocky sides of frowning precipices could be clearly seen.
"Pretty heavily timbered," observed Bob, with a glance aloft. "Great Scott, that mountain we're coming to is a whopper, all right."
"'Tain't nothin' to some," replied Dugan, "but I reckon when we git to Blinkers Pass you'll want to climb inside—most of 'em does."
"Not I," laughed Bob. "Only wish we were there now. Hello, Dave!" he sang out.
"Hello, Bob!" came a cheery response from within the coach.
"What do you think of this for scenery—isn't it great?"
"Oh, ho—best I ever saw. I'm getting inspirations every minute. Did you ever see anything prettier than this?"
As he spoke, the vehicle lumbered heavily over a bridge. Below, a turbulent stream foamed its way in and out among rocks and boulders, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. The trail led upward, and when an hour had passed—an hour full of delight to the boys—they were in the midst of a wild and unfrequented region. Here and there, leaves of the maple and ash shone out against the darker pines and cedars, while the dogwood in full bloom lightened the landscape with its cheerful colors. Forest perfumes filled the air, and the notes of many woodland songsters rose above the steady grind of the coach.
"Perfectly su-perb—magnificent!" floated out of the window, and Bob Somers chuckled as he listened to the delighted comments of his friends.