But the boys had long since become accustomed to the mysteries of the night, and paid no heed. Perhaps eyes belonging to wild inhabitants of the forest may have been, at times, intently fixed upon them, as they sat about. The flames rose higher, sending a flickering glare far into the depths.
“Clearing, at last!” cried Dick, whose patience had been sorely tried by the long wait.
“There’s a big hole in the clouds, sure as I live,” said Sam, exultingly.
“Then the scouting can begin mighty soon,” added Tom.
Half an hour later, Pete Sanderson gave the order to start, and, after beating out every vestige of the fire, the boys sprang into the saddle.
A shadowy group of horsemen, led by the cow-punchers, picked their way slowly between the trees. It was still very obscure, but occasionally a silvery beam penetrated the darkness and streaked over the ground.
For several hours, the determined riders kept up a steady march. At times, they were turned aside by impenetrable thickets, at others, obliged to pass through dark and forbidding ravines, with beetling cliffs hanging overhead. Their progress, too, was challenged by huge boulders and rocks, and, here and there, a fallen tree.
Finally, at a lofty elevation, they reached the far side of the mountain. There were plenty of gaps, now, in the flying clouds, through which the moonlight streamed with weird effect. A scene of wild and impressive grandeur was before them.
“Old Eagles’ Peak, boys!” exclaimed Pete, waving his hand toward a snow-capped summit which rose high above the timbered slopes.
“Magnificent!” murmured Dave.