moss-grown and leaf-covered ground. In the more open places grew buck-brush and the service-berry, Oregon grape with its holly-shaped leaves, blue lupines, Indian paint-brush and great mountain ferns. It was very still when they stopped their horses to rest. Only the 29 wind in the great trees above them, the chatter of a squirrel remonstrating against this intrusion into his solitude, a strange sad bird-note farther up the mountain, and the occasional fall of a leaf or creak of a limb as it rubbed shoulders with its neighbor, broke the silence. Once in a clearing a deer and her fawn gazed at them with wondering eyes before leaping through the ferns into the safe shelter of the timber.

Up—up—up they went. The trail wound in and out around the mountain-side, and their sure-footed horses followed it, never daunted by fallen trees or by rocky and precipitous places. More than once every Vigilante save one held her breath as she was carried up a dangerous, almost obliterated path to heights beyond. But Virginia’s Pedro, who was far-famed as a trailer, led the way, and his rider called back reassuring words to those behind.

By noon the air was cold. They were near snow, Malcolm said. A few minutes more and they had reached it—a veritable snow-bank in late July. The Vigilantes, reënforced by Aunt Nan, challenged the boys to a snow-ball fight, and they all dismounted 30 for the fray. Then came dinner of Hannah’s sandwiches, and bacon and eggs cooked over a little friendship fire beyond the snow.

An hour later they reached the mountain-top, and lo! it was spring again. The ground was covered with early spring flowers—shooting-stars and spring beauties and bearded-tongues. In the sheltered nooks they found dog-toothed violets, and more forget-me-nots—both pink and blue.

It was here that the inexperienced New Englanders longed to camp. They wanted to wake in the morning, they said, and look far across the blue distances, over the tops of the highest trees, to the mountains beyond, like Moses gazing into the Promised Land. But they willingly consented to ride down on the other side to a more sheltered spot and camp by a tiny mountain lake, when Malcolm, aided by Donald and Virginia, explained that a snow-storm was not an unlikely occurrence away up there—even in July!

It was strange to sit around the big camp-fire that night after supper—all alone in a mountain wilderness; strange to rehearse school incidents and to 31 listen to Malcolm’s stories of hunting for elk and antelope in that very spot; strangest of all to go to sleep on pine boughs and blankets which the boys had spread in their tents. The weird, lonesome cry of the coyotes startled more than one sleeping Vigilante that night, and Vivian nestled closer beneath Aunt Nan’s protecting arm. It was not until the next morning when they started for home that they knew of the bear, who, smelling the ham and bacon, had wandered into camp, only to be repulsed by Malcolm and an extra log on the fire.

In that strange, just-before-dawn stillness Virginia awoke to miss Priscilla from her side. She moved the tent flap, and looked out. Priscilla stood by the entrance, her eyes raised to the distant mountains—great shadows beneath a star-strewn sky. She was learning the old, old secrets of those mountains at night.

“I couldn’t help it, Virginia,” she whispered, as she crept back a few moments later. “I’ve wanted so to see what it was like at night, and now I know. It’s bigger than ever! I don’t believe that any one could look at the mountains and the stars and ever 32 be doubtful about—God and—and—things like that, do you?”

The next day, perfect as the one before, they went down, down, down the trail, through the canyon, across the prairie, and home once more.

“Mr. Hunter named it just right,” Priscilla said to Dick, who came to take the horses. “I’ve never felt so well-acquainted in my life!”