“You bet I will,” Joe replied, turning red over his fire. It certainly was almost like being home to have some one like Lucy Elkins be so interested in him, and kindly and sweet. The fire was very smoky, and got into Joe’s eyes, and he had to wipe them—but Lucy did not see, or, if she did, she pretended not to.
“Well,” said Mills, after breakfast, “everybody pack. We’ve got a long day ahead of us, if we stop any time to see the sights.”
“And where are we going?” somebody asked.
“Over Gunsight Pass, and down to Lake McDonald,” the Ranger answered, pointing up to the Great Divide at the head of Gunsight Lake.
“Do you mean to tell me we are going over that place?” demanded Mrs. Jones.
“Why not?” said Mills.
“Why not? Well, I’m not one of these Rocky Mountain goats I hear about.”
“Your horse is,” the Ranger laughed.
As soon as camp was struck, and the horses brought from the upper meadows, where they had wandered in the night, and packed, the party started up the trail.
“Gunsight Pass—I like that name,” said Bob. “But how did it get the name?”