The two dry nimrods and the two wet were soon examining the carcass. It was a monster, over eight feet long, and probably weighing about nine hundred pounds.
The task of skinning Old Ephraim was not an easy one, but Havens' experience counted. When the work was finally accomplished, all realized that it would be impossible to reach the mountain top that night.
"What's the odds?" remarked Bob. "We're not in any hurry."
Four o'clock found the boys weary, footsore, and looking for a camp. They were a long way up the mountain.
During the march, Dick Travers, who carried a shotgun, brought down a brace of quail.
When they came to a stop, it was at a point where a barren, rocky area surrounded them. Evidently at some remote period a fearful convulsion of nature had split and rent the great rocks and piled others together in the utmost confusion.
Looming against the sky, high above, was a rounded summit of the purest white.
Dave Brandon and Dick Travers rested by the wayside, while Bob Somers and Jim went off on a skirmishing expedition toward a belt of timber.
In a few moments, shouts were heard.
"Think there's anything up?" asked Dick, in an anxious voice.