IN THE MOUNTAINS

Early next morning Carlito was waiting for them at an appointed place with an Indian pack pony. By seven o'clock all the party had a.s.sembled, including Fly, who had succeeded in begging off from work. Each of the boys had a stock of provisions, a coat as a preparation for the cold of higher alt.i.tudes, fishing tackle, lines and rods, all of which Carlito strapped on the back and sides of the pony. Each of the boys and Hawke wore a cartridge belt and carried a stout stick to aid in climbing. Herb had a brand new service revolver. Fred, Jerry and Hawke carried guns, Carl carried a bow and arrow, while the others brought rifles. Fred had a camera and Jerry a field gla.s.s.

After an hour's tramp they reached the mountains. Lower down the slopes the ascent was easy. Patches had been worn by the feet of many travelers, here and there stepping stones had been roughly cut, no telling how many generations ago, and other rude steps had been formed by piling comparatively symmetrical stones upon each other. There were numbers of deserted cliff dwellings along the ledges, tucked in under overhanging rocks, and, higher up, perched in perilous spots over deep ravines and rushing torrents. The largest part of the snow had melted by this time, and the mountain streams were swollen to their utmost.

Farther down, their descent was not so remarkable, but before the day was over, the party stood awestruck on the side of many a rocky cliff and looked below at foaming, seething waters, dashing down the rocky ways.

They had not gone far when they came across a group of Indians, of which Tommy was one, squatting on the ground, gambling. There were two squaws in the group, and they, like the men, were smoking. They were playing the stave game, Carl explained, and sat, with stolid faces, throwing their sticks in turn. Occasionally they would allow themselves a grunt of approval or displeasure, as their luck prompted.

"How's it going?" Carlito asked Tommy, in Mexican.

The Indian shook his head in reply, while one of the others grinned.

After watching them awhile, Carlito, followed by the others, started on.

This was practically Fred's first mountain journey, and he was very much worked up over the event. The cliff dwellings interested him exceedingly, and he wanted to explore them all, no matter how dangerous their approach. He had the eastern boy's desire for relics and kodak pictures, and in a short while his pockets were half filled with stones and other things picked up along the way.

"Gee, I wish we could get into that one," he said, pointing to a particularly lofty cliff dwelling, separated from them by a somewhat narrow, but deep ravine, and almost hidden by a great projecting rock and overgrown poplars. But when he worked nearer to the edge, and saw the rushing water below, and the sharp, jagged rocks that lined the ravine, he was dissuaded from the idea and satisfied himself by taking a picture of it.

"A little farther up there's a dandy place to fish," said Carl. "The water runs easy for quite a ways, and there's lots of trout waiting to be caught."

"Head for that," commanded Fly, scrambling over a cactus bush which he had not noticed. "Ow, wow!" he yelled, as some of the sharp thorns grazed his palm.

"Bring down one of those turkeys," said Jerry to Dunk, as a flock of wild turkeys flew over their heads.

None of the boys claimed to be expert marksmen, but they soon found that Hawke deserved that distinction. He succeeded in bringing down one of the flock Jerry had referred to, though it was flying at a good height.

It was nothing more than the boys naturally expected; in fact, they would have been disappointed if he had not proved himself excellent in everything.

"There's just nothin' he can't do," Dunk had said, and in this all the boys heartily agreed.

"Don't shoot too much before dinner," warned Carl, as though he feared they might clean out all the game. "We don't want to do much of that till afternoon. Too heavy to carry."

"Oh, I guess we won't have much of a load," responded Fred, who had made three unsuccessful attempts.

"I guess I don't know how to handle this new gun," was Herb's excuse, when he failed to bag his game.

By ten o'clock they had reached the point in the river which Carl advised was good fishing territory.

"We'll fish till noon," announced Tender Gray, "and then cook 'em."

"Yum, yum," came from several of the boys, who knew what a camp-baked mountain trout was. "I'm hungry already," said Fly.

"Where's your line, Carl?" asked Fred, when all but the Indian had sat down and cast their bait.

"I never use one." The Indian was standing with his bow and arrow, looking intently into the water.

"Just watch him," whispered Jerry.

After that there was little talking. Perhaps there was a little unspoken compet.i.tion among the boys for the first catch. Now and then a trout came up for air, but for a while they seemed to be running the gauntlet of lines successfully.

Dunk's line caught on some floating weed, which he pulled out with a "shucks" of disappointment.

Finally there was a whirr and a splash, and Carl's arrow flashed into the water. When he dragged it to sh.o.r.e with his bow there was a fine big trout attached to it, speared through the head.

Fred and Hawke watched him with interest, but none of the others paid much attention. They had frequently seen him catch fish in this way.

"Hullo, there, Windy, what's dragging your line?" yelled Dunk.

Fred had been so busy watching Carl that he hadn't noticed his shaking line.

"More weed," said Dunk good-humoredly. But Fred fooled him by landing a fine trout.

Contrary to the expectations of most of the boys, Hawke did not make any particular mark as a fisherman. He caught but one fish, and that smaller than the others.

"Guess my luck is going against me," he said, and the boys were very ready to believe it ill fortune instead of lack of ability.

They had been fishing about an hour and a half, when a loud call from Carl attracted their attention. The Indian had been scouring the ground for evidence of game, and had probably found something.

"Come here, fellows," he shouted, "you've got enough fish for dinner."

They all came running over, and examined a freshly dug hole he had found.

"Now, Boy Scouts, what's that?" asked Hawke, his eyes twinkling.

Tender Gray studied it seriously for a few minutes, and then announced:

"Looks like a shepherd dog might have done it."

"I don't know much about wild animal prints," said Fred, "but I suppose it was a bear."

"That's a grizzly's trick," said Carl. "He's been digging a root for his breakfast."

"A grizzly," gasped Tender Gray.

"Do you think you could get him?" exclaimed Fly.

"If I can find his hole," said Carl.

"But how do you know he is there?" asked Herb.

"We'll follow these prints."

The boys and Hawke walked along beside Carl as he pointed out the footprints of the grizzly. Then he stopped.

"See this little trail where the dirt has been dragged along?" asked Carl. "Well, that shows he was dragging something in his mouth, and he's probably gone home to eat it. The marks are fresh, so it wasn't long ago."

"Wouldn't it be a prize to have a grizzly!" exclaimed Fred.