“We’ll hev ter picket the bronchos here,” he exclaimed.
The boys had been expecting this announcement for some time. They were now at the edge of the timber. Above, they saw a steep, almost barren area of glistening rocks.
Bronchos were tethered to the trees, and, after saddle-bags and lariats had been slung over their shoulders, the party were ready for the final stretch. It was arranged that Sam Randall should remain to guard the animals.
“Close to the old spur now, younkers,” remarked Pete, encouragingly.
“Mighty tough work ahead of us, though,” said Bob.
Almost every instant one or another was obliged to drop on his hands and knees, or climb laboriously to the top of some obstruction. It seemed a long time before they scrambled around a bend, to see just ahead, at about their own level, the end of the slope cutting sharply against the tops of a dark forest of pines. Beyond, stretching out like a huge arm, the spur reared itself from the blue, hazy depths of the valley.
“Hooray!” shouted Cranny.
Three minutes later, the party was gazing upon the spur from a bold elevation that rose to a considerable height above it.
AN ANSWER ALMOST IMMEDIATELY FLOATED BACK