VII
"THE MOUNTAINS! THE MOUNTAINS!"
The Spanish trail again! They struck it toward
evening of the day after Lieutenant Wilkinson
had left—and they struck it just in time, too. Snow
was falling once more, and dusk was at hand.
The trail came in from the north, and crossed the river. Lieutenant Pike ordered camp made. Then he and the doctor forded the river, through the floating ice, to see where the trail went on the other side.
They returned in the dark. They had lost the trail, among the buffalo tracks, but were going to try again in the morning.
"We'll have to take Stub, and use his eyes, too," said the doctor.
This was another cold night. The snow had quit, after falling two inches deep. The horses groaned, where they were picketed to graze; before rolling themselves in their blankets and buffalo robes, on the ground, the men huddled about their fires. There were now thirteen soldiers, and Chief Pike, the doctor, Baroney and Stub.
"Heap winter, b'gorry; eh?" spoke Pat Smith, to Stub, and holding his hands to the blaze.
