“Those are Red Eagle and Little Chief Mountains,” said Val. “See that house over on the one little island? That’s where the president of the Great Northern Railroad lives in summer. Come on, though, we can’t look at the pretty pictures. We’ve got to get tents up for the others. She doesn’t like to rough it, Mrs. Jones don’t. Say, I bet she asks you to heat her curling irons to-night.”
Joe laughed.
“Why didn’t you remind me of the forks?” said he. “I’m green, you know, and get rattled.”
“Forks, what for? Let her use her pickers. It’ll do her good,” said Val.
Joe laughed again. Val was just what he wanted a cowboy to be—jolly, reckless, without any reverence for any one or anything. He liked him especially because when it came to doing any job, he went right at it cheerfully and did it.
They now trotted east, along the border of the lake, directly in front of them towering up the huge and beautifully shaped pinkish-gray pyramid of Going-to-the-Sun Mountain. After a mile or so, Val called out for Joe to turn off the trail, and he obeyed, going down through the woods to a long spit of rocks and earth and little trees which had been pushed out into the lake by a roaring brook, which now flowed through the middle of it. Here they dismounted and unloaded the horses, which Val led back to the trail, and then took somewhere up the slopes to their night feeding.
Meanwhile Joe set about making camp. He first picked out a good place for the fire pit, and built that. He got out what he was going to need for supper, and then set about collecting dead wood for his fire. He did not have to go far, either, for the whole rocky beach of the lake was lined with driftwood, and he cut up a good supply, made a fire, and put on two kettles of water to boil, one with some of the beef in it for a stew, one for soup. Then he went at the task of setting up the tent the Ranger had packed, in which he and Mills would sleep, and in which he would keep his provisions.
He had hardly finished, and had the stuff stowed into it, when up the trail he heard voices, and a moment later the party came in sight. They were mostly silent now—only Bob and the girls were doing any talking. Their mothers were hanging forward over the horns of their saddles, thoroughly tired out, and the two congressmen looked nearly as fagged as the women.
“Can I help?” Joe asked the Ranger, after the party had dismounted, and the older people had flopped on the ground.
“No, get supper as soon as you can, that’s all. Dick and I will pitch the tents. Where’s Val?”