After that there was no more snow, and before long the trail was in a forest of yellow pines, and wide as a country road, and all except the rustler and the cook, who had to look after the pack horses, broke into a trot.
In a couple of hours they reached a fine, clear, racing brook, and a Forest Service camp ground. Across the brook was a real road. The doctor and Mr. Stone trotted on three or four miles to get the cars, while the rest waited for the pack horses, and when they arrived got the packs off and sorted.
When the cars came back, the baggage was transferred to them, the boys said good-bye to Norman, Bennie made the cook shake hands with Jeff, and sinking back into the cushions of the motor cars, the boys sighed with the sudden sense of luxury.
“Beats the saddle of an old cayuse, when you’re tired,” Dumplin’ called from his father’s car.
“Just the same, I’m awful sorry it’s all over,” said Bennie. “I never have worked so hard in all my life—and I never had such a wonderful time.”
“Me, too,” said Spider.
“You’ve got a good time coming, and in about one hour, or less,” said Uncle Billy. “I don’t know whether you’ve noticed that lunch was pretty sketchy today.”
“Sketchy is the word,” Bennie answered. “Gee, it’s three o’clock, and we haven’t had a thing since five A. M.”
“You wait,” laughed the doctor. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
In a short time he stopped the car at a ranch house beside the great springs of the Metolius River, which gush right up out of the open ground of a green meadow in the heart of the forest, irrigating the whole meadow and making a rich oasis of grass and crops in the arid soil.