on the mountain. Resting there in our blankets, we Elk Scouts could see
all about us. The lake lay silent and glassy, except when now and then a
big old trout plashed. The slide-rock bank gleamed white, and above it
stretched the long rocky slope of Pilot, with the moon casting lights
and shadows clear to its top.

This was a mighty lonely spot, up here, by the queer lake, with timber
on one side and the mountain on the other; the air was frosty, because
ice would form any night, so high; not a sound could be heard, save the
plash of trout, or the sighs of Apache as he fidgeted and dozed and
grazed; but the Red Fox Scouts were snug under their tent, and under our
bedding we Elks were cuddled warm, in two pairs and with Major Henry
sleeping single.

We did not need to hobble or picket Apache. (Note 56.) He had come so
far that he followed like a dog and stayed around us like a dog. When
you get a burro out into the timber or desert wilds and have cut him
loose from his regular stamping ground, then he won't be separated from
you. He's afraid. Burros are awfully funny animals. They like company.
So when we camped we just turned Apache out, and he hung about pretty
close, expecting scraps of bread and stuff and enjoying our
conversation.

To-night he kept snorting and fussing, and edging in on us, and before
we went to sleep we had to throw sticks at him and shoo him off. It
seemed too lonesome for him, up here. Then we dropped to sleep, under
the moon--and then, the first thing Fitz and I knew, Apache was trying
to crawl into bed with us!

That waked us. Nobody can sleep with a burro under the same blanket.
Apache was right astraddle of us and was shaking like an aspen leaf; his
long ears were pricked, he was glaring about, and how he snorted! I sat
up; so did Fitz. We were afraid that Apache might step on our faces.

"Get out, Apache!" we begged. But he wouldn't "get." He didn't budge,
and we had to push him aside, with our hands against his stomach.

Now the whole camp was astir, grumbling and turning. Apache ran and
tried to bunk with Kit and Jed. "Get out!" scolded Kit; and repulsed
here, poor Apache stuck his nose in between the flaps of the silk tent
and began to shove inside.

Something crackled amidst the brush along the lake, and there sounded a
snort from that direction, also. It was a peculiar snort. It was a
grunty, blowy snort. And beside me Fitz stiffened and lifted his head
further.

"Bear!" he wh