“Say, that’s a hole in the earth!” Mr. Crimmins exclaimed.
Mt. Cleveland and Glenns Lakes
Robert spit over the edge. “I never spit three thousand feet before,” he said. “Want to climb up that cliff with your rope, Tom?”
Tom shook his head. “It couldn’t be done, not even by a goat,” he said, wisely.
“As a matter of fact, you’re right,” Mills laughed. “I never even knew that cliff was here, either. This Park hasn’t been more’n half explored yet.”
From almost the very top of this peak, a long, very steep shale slope led to the “Valley Forge” meadow, and down this they descended, by the aid of the rope, sending showers of stones ahead, so that the leader was in constant danger, and wearing down the spikes and soles of their boots rapidly. They camped that night in the old spot, using their former fire pit, but there was no storm, and the next day they had an uneventful passage back down Mineral Creek, up to Swift Current by the trail Joe had first climbed in the rain, and so on back to Many Glacier—a long trip of twenty-four miles, but to Joe, who by this was as hard as nails, not very tiresome. At Many Glacier the boys bid the two men and Robert good-bye, and as darkness was gathering, once more cooked their supper in Camp Kent, which by now was like home to them.
“Well,” said Tom, “that was some trip, old wifey—let’s see, we were six days out, and we didn’t meet a soul after we left the road till we got back to Granite Park, except the ranger up under Cleveland. The real wilderness stuff, eh?”