At noon, two days later, they stepped out of a heavy stand of spruce
into a sun-warmed meadow, where ripe, yellow grasses waved to their
horses' knees. Hazel came afoot, a fresh-killed deer lashed across
Silk's back.
Bill hesitated, as if taking his bearings, then led to where a rocky
spur of a hill jutted into the meadow's edge. A spring bubbled out of
a pebbly basin, and he poked about in the grass beside it with his
foot, presently stooping to pick up something which proved to be a
short bit of charred stick.
"The remains of my last camp fire," he smiled reminiscently. "Packs
off, old pal. We're through with the trail for a while."
CHAPTER XIX
FOUR WALLS AND A ROOF
To such as view with a kindly eye the hushed areas of virgin forest and
the bold cliffs and peaks of mountain ranges, it is a joy to tread
unknown trails, camping as the spirit moves, journeying leisurely and
in decent comfort from charming spot to spots more charming. With no
spur of need to drive, such inconsequential wandering gives to each day
and incident an added zest. Nature appears to have on her best bib and
tucker for the occasion. The alluring finger of the unknown beckons
alluringly onward, so that if one should betimes strain to physical
exhaustion in pursuit, that is a matter of no moment whatever.
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