CHAPTER XVFOLLOWING THE AERIAL TRAIL
Shouting and laughing, the entire party raced down the hill and up the other side to view the result of Lieutenant Wingate’s shot. They found the buck lying dead where it had fallen, with a bullet hole through its head.
“Can my Uncle Hip shoot? Well, I reckon he can,” declared Stacy pompously. “Cleverness runs in our family,” boasted Stacy.
“That quality must have exhausted itself before you joined the family,” retorted Emma.
Stacy admitted that he had lost some of it after becoming a member of the Overland Riders, which, he said, was undoubtedly due to association with inferior intellects, to which Emma had no reply to make, other than characteristically elevating her nose and turning her back on the fat boy.
“Come, come,” urged Hippy. “Stacy, you and Tom will have to help me dress this beast if you want meat. It is certain that we shall not starve today.”
The job of dressing the buck was accomplished clumsily, the Overland girls being interested spectators and offering frequent suggestions on the subject, of which they knew nothing.
That night the Riders enjoyed a great spread. Following it, such of the meat as they wished to carry with them they spitted on sharp sticks in the smoke of the camp-fire. This was the beginning of the curing process required to put the meat in condition to keep, so that they might carry it along, for the party did not dare trust to the chance of finding other game farther on, fearing that they again might be caught foodless. One experience of the kind was enough.
Lieutenant Wingate and his companions had learned a lesson in observation from the guide, and Hippy began to understand that a hunter, when after game, must put out of his mind every object in the landscape except the particular thing for which he is looking. He tried out that idea that same day by looking for various objects, one at a time, and was amazed at the result. Under this method, objects that he had not before observed at all now stood out with great prominence. Hippy then recalled what an old hunter, then sniping Germans, had told him in France: “Let your eyes sweep quickly over the landscape but pay no attention to the more prominent objects, and you will be amazed at the quickness with which you will discover that for which you are looking.”
The method worked out just as Hippy’s informant had said it would, and Hippy determined never again to be caught napping. However, his respect for the guide had increased considerably, and especially for the keenness of Woo Smith’s eyes.
With all the venison they could carry packed in their kits, the party set out early on the following morning and soon found themselves on the brink of another box-canyon, which they reached without mishap, then made their way up the side of another mountain, and on over a series of rugged elevations that would tax the sure-footedness of a mountain goat.
“This up and down progress reminds me of a wild ride that I once had on a scenic railway at Coney Island,” declared Elfreda Briggs as they finally halted for a rest. Elfreda’s face was red from exertion and excitement, and her hair had become the plaything of the mountain breezes.
“Don’t wolly till to-mollow,” chuckled Stacy.
“Stacy, you’re right,” nodded Tom Gray. “But it is now time we were moving. See that ridge to the right of us?”
“Surely we do not have to cross that, do we?” begged Emma.
“Yes. We shall have to ride its entire length in order to reach the high mountain peak that you see still farther on. Either we must start now or wait until tomorrow,” averred Tom.
“It never will do to be caught on the top of that ridge in the darkness,” agreed Hippy.
The ridge referred to lay slightly higher than their present position, but there was plainly a safe trail leading to it. Orders to move were given by Hippy. The Overland Riders were quickly in their saddles, and the party slowly mounted the ridge, but halted as they came to the top of it. For once the girls experienced a case of “nerves.”
“We never shall be able to ride over this awful trail,” cried Elfreda Briggs.
“Oh, let’s go back,” begged Emma.
“Impossible!” answered Hippy. “This is the trail that we shall have to follow to reach the high peak of the Sierras.”
“If the horses behave and no one loses her head we ought to be able to cross safely,” averred Grace.
“My head is swimming already,” moaned Nora.
“Why don’t you turn it over and let it float for a few minutes?” suggested Chunky.
After directing Woo to proceed on ahead, the journey was resumed, and the ponies stepped out over the knife-edge top of the ridge. This ridge, not more than a dozen feet wide along the top, formed a natural bridge connecting two mountain ranges. Here and there the sides of the ridge fell away sheer for hundreds of feet, and at others, smooth granite rocks sloped away to the canyon below.
Ahead of the Riders, Woo Smith was picking his way unconcernedly, singing blithely. The girls of the party sought to look equally unconcerned, but not with very much success, for each one was feeling the effect of the great height and their peril on the narrow path. Emma Dean finally slipped from her saddle, and passing the bridle-rein over one arm, proceeded to pick her way on foot.
“Cold feet, eh?” scoffed Stacy.
“No. I’m scared, that’s all,” replied Emma. “I don’t care who knows it, either.”
Grace glanced at the faces of her companions, and then, at the rapidly narrowing trail.
“While I believe that we shall be in less peril on our ponies than on foot, I suggest that we all walk,” she said, dismounting. “With your feet on the ground you will be less nervous.”
Grace’s companions lost no time in following her example, but they dismounted cautiously. It was a relief to feel the solid ground under their feet. A laugh further relieved the strain when Hippy Wingate finally dismounted. The girls teased him unmercifully, though all knew that a man who had fought the Germans in the clouds was not likely to be disturbed by great heights. A few moments later Stacy dismounted, but Tom remained on his pony and appeared to be enjoying the novel experience of riding along this unusual aerial trail.
Miss Kitty, the lazy pack-horse, as usual, brought up the rear of the line and was dragging farther and farther behind. Her actions were observed with keen interest by the Overlanders, there being no certainty as to what the white pack mare might or might not do. She proved the wisdom of their lack of confidence in her when, weaving from side to side to avoid stepping over projecting rocks or boulders, she stepped off the trail with one hind foot.
“Quick, Hippy!” cried Nora excitedly. “She will fall over!”
Lieutenant Wingate sprang forward and gave the mare a quick slap on her flank. The mare jumped, then down she fell on her side with hindquarters hanging partly over the brink, and there she lay groaning dismally, the picture of misery and fear. The faces of the Overland girls paled, for each knew that the slightest struggle on the part of the white mare would send her sliding to the bottom of the canyon fully a thousand feet below.