“I bet that’s a fine trout stream,” exclaimed Tom enthusiastically.
“This is one of the best places that we ever had to camp in,” cried Jo. “The only place I can remember that beat it was in Mexico near the trembling mountain where we were all shut in.”
“Here’s the place for a camp,” announced Jim. “This hill is away from the mountain slope far enough so that no enemy can crawl down under the protection of the trees. Then it can be defended, if necessary. For some reason, I would not like to camp out on that level meadow to-night.”
“You don’t expect trouble with Indians, do you?” inquired Tom anxiously.
“No,” replied Jim, “but there are other bad men besides Indians.”
“You are right, Skipper,” said the shepherd, “we are liable to find the worst kind of cutthroats and ruffians in this part of the country.”
“I guess we will be able to stand ’em off,” said Jim, “without calling in the police.”
Then James swung himself off his horse at the foot of the long hill; Tom and Jo rather stiffly, for they were not yet used to active mountaineering after so much sea travel, while Jeems Howell stepped off his little bay pony. Now ensued a scene of much activity making camp. Each one had his work to do and it was done promptly.
Juarez and Jim looked after the horses; rubbed them down, looked carefully after any strain or sore, and it was work that they loved to do. When the horses were sufficiently rested they were watered and fed, and from their splendid condition it was evident that they were well cared for. Caliente, Jim’s charger, was in extra fine shape. His coat of mottled iron-gray fairly shone under Jim’s brushing. When he had time he polished his hoofs. There was a real affection between the horse and his master. On more than one occasion his strength and fleetness had saved Jim’s life. No one else was equal to controlling him.
Jeems’ and Tom’s work was to look after the mules, take off their packs and feed and water the animals. Jeems seemed to get along with the mules all right, much better than he did with the horses. Perhaps the mules were philosophers. At least they were very wise animals, canny and self-controlled. No mule you notice will overeat even when he has a chance, but with a horse it is different.