rom the
hills; the stream that gathered its three forks at this point roared
over its rocks; the stunted willows were in full leaf; the thick, soft
moss of every dark shade of green and yellow and red made a foil for
innumerable brilliant flowers. The fat, gray conies chirped at us from
the rocks; the ground-squirrels, greatly multiplied since the wholesale
destruction of foxes, kept the dogs unavailingly chasing hither and
thither whenever they were loose. We never grew tired of walking up and
down and to and fro about the camp--it was a delight to tread upon the
moss-covered earth after so long treading upon nothing but ice and snow;
it was a delight to gaze out through naked eyes after all those weeks in
which we had not dared even for a few moments to lay aside the yellow
glasses in the open air; it was a delight to see joyful, eager animal
life around us after our sojourn in regions dead. Supper was a delight.
Johnny had killed four mountain-sheep and a caribou while we were gone,
and not only had fed the dogs well, but from time to time had put aside
choice portions expecting our return. But what was most grateful to us
and most extraordinary in him, the boy had saved, untouched, the small
ration of sugar and milk left for his consumption, knowing that ours was
all destroyed; and we enjoyed coffee with these luxurious appurtenances
as only they can who have been long deprived of them. There are not many
boys of fifteen or sixteen of any race who would voluntarily have done
the like.

[Illustration: Johnny Fred who kept the base camp and fed the dogs and
would not touch the sugar.]

The next day there was much to do. There were pack-saddles of canvas to
make for the dogs' backs that they might help us carry our necessary
stuff out; our own clothing and footwear to overhaul, bread to bake,
guns to clean and oil against rust. Yet withal, we took it lazily, with
five to divide these tasks, and napped and lay around and continually
consumed biscuits and coffee which Johnny continually cooked. We all
took at least a partial bath in the creek, cold as it was, the first
bath in--well, in a long time. Mountain climbers belong legitimately to
the great unwashed.

It was a day of perfect rest and contentment with hearts full of
gratitude. Not a single mishap had occurred to mar the complete success
of our undertaking--not an injury of any sort to any one, nor an
illness. All five of us were in perfect health. Surely we ha