When Dick roused me the forest was shrouded in gray, cold fog. No time was
lost in getting breakfast, driving in the horses, and packing. Hardly any
words were exchanged. My comrades appeared even soberer than on the day
before. The fog lifted quickly that morning, and soon the sun was shining.
We got under way at once, and took to the trail at a jog-trot. I knew my
horse better and he was more used to me, which made it at least bearable to
both of us. Before long the canyon widened out into the level forest land
thickly studded with magnificent pines. I had again the feeling of awe and
littleness. Everything was solemn and still. The morning air was cool, and
dry as toast; the smell of pitch-pine choked my nostrils. We rode briskly
down the broad brown aisles, across the sunny glades, under the murmuring
pines.
The old hunter was leading our train, and evidently knew perfectly what he
was about. Unexpectedly he halted, bringing us up short. The pack-ponies
lined up behind us. Hiram looked at Dick.
"I smell smoke," he said, sniffing at the fragrant air.
Dick stared at the old hunter and likewise sniffed. I followed their lead,
but all I could smell was the thick, piney odor of the forest.
"I don't catch it," replied Dick.
We continued on our journey perhaps for a quarter of a mile, and then Hiram
Bent stopped again.
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