“I bet you would!” Joe exclaimed. “Anybody who says girls are quitters has got the wrong dope.”
So he went back alone to the little camp in the woods, and though it was dark and ghostly and every cracking twig gave him a jump, he built up his fire and lay down to sleep. He did not sleep for a long time, for he could not make himself stop listening to noises, but finally he dozed off, and when he finally woke it was daylight.
“You poor simp!” he told himself. “Nothing has happened. Afraid of a tame bear, who’s probably twice as afraid of you! Glad old Spider wasn’t here to see!”
He fried himself some bacon, and hurried back to the stables, to help pack the horses for the trip.
“And now where is it?” the men demanded, as they all mounted.
“Depends on the weather,” Mills said. “If it holds off rain, I want to camp to-night in Avalanche Basin, and maybe show you a goat or two. If it comes on to rain, we’ll make for Granite Park chalet, on Swift Current Pass.”
“I see—going around the circle, and back to Many Glacier over Swift Current,” said Mr. Elkins, who had been studying a map. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t rain. I don’t see any signs now.”
“I smell it,” Mills said.
This day, with restocked provisions and well rested horses, they headed north, on the west side of the Divide, past the head of the lake, and up McDonald Creek, a rushing, turbulent little river which comes pouring down the heavily wooded cañon between the Lewis Range, which is the range that makes the Continental Divide, and the Livingston Range just to the west. It was a pretty ride, up the side of the stream, but the trees were so thick and tall that they could catch only occasional glimpses of the mountain walls on either side of the cañon.
After five miles or more, Mills halted, by the side of a smaller stream which came in from the east, and took a look at the sky and the peak of a mountain visible in a gap of the trees.