We climbed to another level bench where we branched off the trail. The forest still kept its open, park-like character. Under the great pines the ground was bare and brown with a thick covering of pine-needles, but in the glades were green grass and blue flowers.
Once across this level we encountered a steeper ascent than any I had yet climbed. Here the character of the forest began to change. There were other trees than pines, and particularly one kind, cone-shaped, symmetrical, and bright, which **** called a silver spruce. I was glad it belonged to the conifers, or pine-tree family, because it was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. We climbed ridges and threaded through aspen thickets in hollows till near sunset. Then Stockton ordered a halt for camp.
It came none too soon for me, and I was so exhausted that I had to be helped off my mustang. Stockton arranged my blankets, fed me, and bathed the bruise on my head, but I was too weary and sick to be grateful or to care about anything except sleep. Even the fact that my hands were uncomfortably bound did not keep me awake.
When some one called me next morning my eyes did not want to stay open. I had a lazy feeling and a dull ache in my bones, but the pain had gone from my head. That made everything else seem all right.
Soon we were climbing again, and my interest in my surroundings grew as we went up. For a while we brushed through thickets of scrub oak. The whole slope of the mountain was ridged and hollowed, so that we were always going down and climbing up. The pines and spruces grew smaller, and were more rugged and gnarled.
"Hyar's the canyon!" sang out Bill, presently.
We came out on the edge of a deep hollow. It was half a mile wide. I looked down a long incline of sharp tree-tips. The roar of water rose from below, and in places a white rushing torrent showed. Above loomed the snow-clad peak, glistening in the morning sun. How wonderfully far off and high it still was!
To my regret it was shut off from my sight as we descended into the canyon.
However, I soon forgot that. I saw a troop of coyotes, and many black and white squirrels. From time to time huge birds, almost as big as turkeys, crashed out of the thickets and whirred away. They flew swift as pheasants, and I asked **** what they were.
"Blue grouse," he replied. "Look sharp now, Ken, there are deer ahead of us. See the tracks?"
Looking down I saw little, sharp-pointed, oval tracks. Presently two foxes crossed an open patch not fifty yards from us, but I did not get a glimpse of the deer. Soon we reached the bottom of the canyon, and struck into another trail. The air was full of the low roar of tumbling water. This mountain-torrent was about twenty feet wide, but its swiftness and foam made it impossible to tell its depth. The trail led up-stream, and turned so constantly that half the time Bill, the leader, was not in sight. Once the sharp crack of his rifle halted the train. I heard crashings in the thicket. **** yelled for me to look up the slope, and there I saw three gray deer with white tails raised. I heard a strange, whistling sound.
On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it on his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower, and soon we entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was exceedingly rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was amazed to see the gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several hundred feet across. The walls were steep, and one side shelved out, ****** a long, shallow cave, In the center of this amphitheatre was a deep hole from which the mountain stream boiled and bubbled.
"Hyar we are," said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men followed suit, and helped **** and me down. Stockton untied our hands, saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we were.
My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the Mexican to keep guard over us.
"Ken, I've heard of this place," said ****. "How's that for a spring?
Twenty yards wide, and no telling how deep! This is snow-water straight from the peaks. We're not a thousand feet below the snow-line."
"I can tell that. Look at those Jwari pines," I replied, pointing up over the wall. A rugged slope rose above our camp-site, and it was covered with a tangled mass of stunted pines. Many of them were twisted and misshapen; some were half dead and bleached white at the tops. "It's my first sight of such trees," I went on, "but I've studied about them. Up here it's not lack of moisture that stunts and retards their growth. It's fighting the elements--cold, storm-winds, snowslides. I suppose not one in a thousand seedlings takes root and survives. But the forest fights hard to live."
"Well, Ken, we may as well sit back now and talk forestry till Buell skins all he wants of Penetier," said ****. "It's really a fine camping-spot.
Plenty of deer up here and bear, too."
"****, couldn't we escape?" I whispered.
"We're not likely to have a chance. But I say, Ken, how did you happen to turn up? I thought you were going to hop on the first train for home."
"****, you had another think coming. I couldn't go home. I'll have a great time yet--I'm having it now."
"Yes, that lump on your head looks like it," replied ****, with a laugh.
"If Bud hadn't put you out we'd have come closer to licking this bunch.
Ken, keep your eye on Greaser. He's treacherous. His arm's lame yet."
"We've had two run-ins already," I said. "The third time is the worst, they say. I hope it won't come. . . . But, ****, I'm as big--I'm bigger than he is."
"Hear the kid talk! I certainly ought to have put you on that train--"
"What train?" asked Stockton, sharply, from our rear. He took us in with suspicious eyes.
"I was telling Ken I ought to have put him on a train for home," answered ****.
