Part 13 (2/2)

They had to pa.s.s on this narrow path, and Mills, the two guides, and Joe held the horses of their party while the ascending riders squeezed past, and then led the packhorses, one by one, to a spot where they could make room for another horse to get by. It seemed ticklish work to Joe, but the horses were as calm about it as if they had been on level ground.

It was long after one o'clock when the nineteen horses of the procession finally stepped off the last of the shale upon the green gra.s.s of a little meadow, and then into a level strip of woods. With a yell, Mills. .h.i.t his horse, and went forward at a smart trot, everybody following, even the weary packhorses. Out of the woods on the other side they trotted into the most beautiful spot Joe had ever seen in all his life, and when Miss Elkins cried, ”Oh, is this Heaven?” he felt like saying, ”Me too!”--but remembered that, after all, he was only the cook, and kept silent.

”This is Piegan Pines,” said the Ranger. ”All off for lunch.”

He sprang from his saddle, and he and the forward guide helped the two older women to dismount--and they certainly needed help.

”I can _never_ get back there again,” wailed poor Mrs. Jones, as she flopped down on the gra.s.s.

While the party were dismounting, Joe had just time for a quick look about him. They were in a little meadow, maybe half a mile wide, with towering rock walls on both sides, hung with snow-fields and a glacier or two, and, behind, the great shale slide down which they had just come. Only one side, to the south, was open--and there the meadow just dropped off into s.p.a.ce. Across the hole, far off and blue, was the great blue ma.s.s of Mount Jackson, covered with snow, and the great white and green slopes of Blackfeet Glacier, the largest in the Park. The meadow was full of little limber pines, golden with millions of dog-tooth violet bells, and criss-crossed with tiny ice-water brooks, running in channels over the gra.s.s--made, of course, by melting snow on the cliffs above.

”Golly,” thought Joe, ”if old Spider and I could only come and camp here!”

But now Mills was telling him to get a quick, cold lunch, and he and the other guide sprang for the packhorses, and got out what was needed, while Mills made a camp-fire beside one of the brooks.

As Joe was making his preparations, he felt Miss Elkins standing beside him, and looked up.

”Are you the cook?” she asked.

”I--I believe so,” Joe stammered, getting red.

”You don't look very old to be a cook,” said she. ”Have you got lots and lots to eat? I could devour a whole butcher shop, I think.”

”Cold lunch,” said Joe, grinning. ”Ranger's orders.”

”Oh, not a cold lunch! Mr. Mills--Mr. Mills--cook says you say a cold lunch. You didn't say that, did you?”

”Sure, ice water and a cracker,” the Ranger grinned. ”Can't stop to cook.”

”Oh, please, just coffee--mother will _never_ get back on her horse without a cup of coffee.”

”I'll never get back without _two_ cups,” groaned Mrs. Jones.

”Well, Joe, make 'em coffee,” said Mills, with a wink at Joe, who had been intending to make coffee all the time.

He filled his kettle at the little brook, and while the coffee was boiling, opened a small can of sardines apiece, some boxes of crackers, a can of beans, and two or three jars of jam. For the jam, he carefully whittled some dead pine limbs into rough spoons, to save dish was.h.i.+ng, and sweetened the coffee, when ready, in the pot, for the same purpose.

By the time he had this very simple lunch spread out on a bit of level ground, with no plates or spoons except for the beans, which he had heated while the coffee was boiling, the party had scattered, all but Val, the young cowboy.

”Ready?” Val asked.

”All ready.”

Val picked up a piece of wood and a frying-pan, which lay on the opened pack. Pounding the pan with the stick like a drum, he yelled,

”Come and get it!”

”That's the word that brings 'em in these parts,” he added to Joe.

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