he wanted to make the climb, too. He followed us
all the way, eating things, and gained a Scout mountain honor.

We were traveling light, of course. Fitz had his camera slung over his
shoulder, Red Fox Scout Van Sant had his twenty-two rifle, because we
thought we might run into some grouse, and the law on grouse was out at
last and we needed meat. Nobody bothered with staffs. They're no good
when you must use hands and knees all at once, as you do on some of the
Rocky Mountains. They're a bother.

We struck into the draw. It was shallow and bushy, with sarvice-berries
and squaw-berries and gooseberries; but we didn't stop to eat. We let
Apache do the eating. Our thought was to reach the very tip-top of
Pilot.

The sun shone hot, making us sweat as we followed up through the draw,
in single file, Major Henry leading, Fitz next, then the Red Fox Scouts,
and we three others strung out behind, with Apache closing the rear. The
draw brought us out, as we had planned, opposite the ledge, and we swung
off to this.

Now we were up quite high. We halted to take breath and puff. The ledge
was broad and flat and grassy, with rimrock behind it; and from it we
could look down upon the lake, far below, and the place of our camp, and
the big timber through which we had trailed, and away in the distance
was the mesa or plateau that we had crossed after the forest fire. We
were above timber-line, and all around us were only sunshine and
bareness, and warmth and nice clean smells.

"Whew!" sighed Red Fox Scout Ward. "It's fine, fellows."

That was enough. We knew how he felt. We felt the same.

But of course we weren't at the top, not by any means. Major Henry
started again, on the upward trail. We followed along the ledge around
the rimrock until we came to a little pass through. That brought us into
a regular maze of big rocks, lying as if a chunk as big as a city block
had dropped and smashed, scattering pieces all about. This spot didn't
show from below. That is the way with mountains. They look smooth, but
when you get up close they break out into hills and holes and rocks and
all kinds of unexpected places, worse than measles.

But among these jagged chunks we threaded, back and forth, always trying
to push ahead, until suddenly Red Fox Scout Ward called, "I'm out!" and
we went to him. So he was.

That long, bare slope lay beyond, blotched with snow. The snow had not
seemed much, from below; but now it was in large patc