Part 11 (1/2)

”I bet you're sore to-night,” said Tom.

”I bet I am, too. You try him. Gee, he's a fine old horse. You ought to see him come down a trail--just as careful. Wow! and some trail, too!”

Joe dismounted, stiffly, with an ”Ouch!” and Tom climbed into the saddle. Popgun looked mildly around, to see what the change meant, and then trotted obediently off.

Joe watched, laughing. There was no doubt that Tom bounced. He bounced as much as the women. The harder he tried not to, the more he bounced.

”See, you got to do it this way,” said Joe, as the other scout came back. He started to mount again, with a leap, but his legs were so stiff they'd hardly work.

”Very graceful, _very_ graceful indeed!” Tom taunted. ”Why don't you get a job in the movies, you're so graceful?”

”Maybe I will,” Joe answered, finally getting into his saddle. ”Now look--here's the way.”

He hit Popgun with his heels, and started up the trail, but before he was out of sight a second cavalcade, with a cowboy at the head, came thundering past. Popgun turned, and in spite of Joe's cries and tugs at the rein, insisted on galloping with it. Hanging helpless to his saddle horn, Tom saw Joe tearing past, in the middle of the crowd, and disappearing toward the hotel.

Five minutes later he returned, looking very sheepish.

”I see just how to do it,” Tom taunted. ”Joe, you've got speed, but no control!”

”You wait! I'll have old Popgun eating out of my hand yet,” Joe answered. ”Guess I'll put him up now, and feed him.”

”Yes, and then you come back and rest. You've been doing too much to-day,” said Tom.

When Joe got back, he found Tom busy at the camp. The first party of hikers had arrived--ten of them, men about thirty-five years old from Chicago, who were taking their vacation tramping through the Park. They all wore high, heavy boots with hobnails, flannel s.h.i.+rts, khaki trousers, and carried knapsacks on their backs. Tom was hustling around buying provisions for them at the chalet store, fixing their bunks, getting fresh water, making a fire in the stove, and so on, while two of the men, who acted as cooks, were getting ready to cook the supper.

”Can I help?” Joe asked.

”No, you go back to our tent and rest,” said Tom. ”You can get our supper, after you've thought a while about how graceful you are.”

Joe went limping off, and was only too glad to lie down in the tent. He lay on his side presently. He began to realize acutely, and locally, that he had been riding horseback, fourteen miles, for the first time.

But he had supper ready when Tom came at six-thirty.

”How do you feel?” Tom demanded. ”I bet you've been doing too much.

Tired? Got a fever?”

He got out the thermometer.

”I'm sore, all right, but I'm not very tired, not half as tired as I used to get at home, just walking back from school.”

Tom answered by putting the thermometer in his mouth.

”No fever at all--and you're all sweaty,” he said a minute later. ”You really feeling better, old Joey?”

”Sure I am.”

But Tom wouldn't let him help after supper in getting more wood for the camp. Tom did it all, while Joe sat at first outside the tepees and tried to hear the talk of the hikers about their trip, and later, when Tom was through, moved closer to the ”council fire,” built in a ring of stones, at the invitation of the men, and heard them tell of their twenty-two mile hike that day over Piegan Pa.s.s from Upper St. Mary Lake.