He
shouldered his blackened implements and commenced a laborious ascent.
Suddenly he discovered that he was very tired, and that his legs were
weak and wobbly. Stubs and sticks protruded everywhere; stones rolled
from under his feet. Once on a steep shale, he fell and rolled ten feet
out of sheer weariness. In addition he was again very thirsty, and his
canteen empty. A chill gray of dawn was abroad; the smell of stale
burning hung in the air.
By the time he had staggered into camp the daylight had come. He glanced
about him wearily. Across a tiny ravine the horses dozed, tied each to a
short picket rope. Bob was already enough of a mountaineer to notice
that the feed was very scant. The camp itself had been made under a
dozen big yellow pines. A bright little fire flickered. About it stood
utensils from which the men were rather dispiritedly helping themselves.
Bob saw that the long pine needles had been scraped together to make
soft beds, over which the blankets had been spread. Amy herself, her
cheeks red, her eyes bright, was passing around tin cups of strong
coffee, and tin plates of food.
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