The canons through which flowed the streams became
deeper and more precipitous; the divides between them higher. At one
point where the road emerged on a bold, clear point, Bob looked back to
the shimmering plain, and was astonished to see how high they had
climbed. To the eastward and only a few miles distant rose the dark mass
of a pine-covered ridge, austere and solemn, the first rampart of the
Sierras. Welton pointed to it with his whip.
"There's our timber," said he simply.
A little farther along the buckboard drew rein at the top of a long
declivity that led down to a broad wooded valley. Among the trees Bob
caught a glimpse of the roofs of scattered houses, and the gleam of a
river. From the opposite edge of the valley rose the mountain-ridge,
sheer and noble. The light of afternoon tinted it with lilac and purple.
"That's the celebrated town of Sycamore Flats," said Welton. "Just at
present we're the most important citizens. This fellow here's the first
yellow pine on the road."
Bob looked upon what he then considered a rather large tree. Later he
changed his mind. The buckboard rattled down the grade, swung over a
bridge, and so into the little town.
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