“So much perspiring, and such rapid evaporation in the wind up there, certainly does use up the water in your system,” the doctor said, as his face emerged dripping from the brook, and he put on his glasses again. “Free ice water, too. Look at the chunks of ice floating around in it—and here it is August, and flowers growing on the bank!”
Mills got the horses, and they mounted. Tom could hardly have truthfully said he “vaulted into the saddle,” however. He got up with considerable difficulty, for he was stiff and lame, and his arms were trembling from such long, hard strain in going up and then down the rope. But it was certainly good to be in the saddle, once you got there, and find yourself being carried, instead of having to do the work.
The Ranger at once began to trot. The trail to Iceberg Lake is such a good one, and the grade is so easy, that you can trot over a good deal of the distance, and Mills did not let any grass grow under their feet, especially as the horses were fresh. When they reached the woods near home, and the trail was almost level, he broke into a gallop, and with the doctor (who was not a good rider) wildly hanging to the horn of his saddle, they tore past a party just coming in from Swift Current, and dashed up to the tepee camp, where Joe was waiting for them.
The camp was full of hikers—a whole party of men and women, ten or a dozen. They were busily cooking on the stove, and the doctor looked anything but pleased.
“Where do I come in, Joe?” he asked, as he climbed from his horse.
“I thought maybe you’d rather come down to our little camp for supper,” said Joe. “I can’t use the stove here till this gang gets through, and Tom and I have a rough sort of table at our camp, and I have supper all ready to cook there, and I planned to have Mr. Mills come, too. Tom and I will sort of give a party.”
“Well, now, that’s fine!” said the doctor. “Mills and I accept. Let me wash up in my tepee first, and I’ll be with you.”
He went into his tepee.
“I’ll take the horses up to the cabin,” said the Ranger, “and be with you in a jiffy. Say, Tom,” [he added this in a low tone] “we had his number wrong. He knows the climbing game from the bottom up—he’s careful, he’s got nerve, he can pick a hold every time, and he don’t gas. He gets my vote.”
“Mine, too!” Tom answered.