Abe?  Abe Jones!  The name haunted me.  In one clear divining flash I saw the life of the lad.  I yearned with tremendous passion for the power to tell the simplicity, the ruggedness, the pathos and the glory of his story.  The moan of wind in the pines seemed a requiem for the boy who had prattled and romped and played under them, who had chopped and shot and rode under them.  Into his manhood had gone something of their strength and nature.

We sought our beds early.  The night down in that deep, open canyon was the coldest we had experienced.  I slept but little.  At dawn all was hoar-white with frost.  It crackled under foot.  The air had a stinging bite.  Yet how sweet, pure, cold to breathe!

Doyle’s cheery:  “Come and get it,” was welcome call to breakfast.  Lee and Pups drove the horses into one of the old corrals.  In an hour, while the frost was yet hard and white, we were ready to start.  Then Doyle somewhat chilled our hopes:  “Twenty years ago there was a bad road out of here.  Maybe one’s been made since.”

But one had not been made.  And the old road had not been used for years.  Right at the outset we struck a long, steep, winding, rocky road.  We got stalled at the very foot of it.  More toil!  Unloading the wagon we packed on our saddles the whole load more than a mile up this last and crowning obstacle.  Then it took all the horses together to pull the empty wagon up to a level.  By that time sunset had overtaken us.  Where had the hours gone?  Nine hours to go one mile!  But there had to be an end to our agonies.  By twilight we trotted down into Long Valley, and crossed the main road to camp in a grove we remembered well.  We partook of a meagre supper, but we were happy.  And bed that night on a thick layer of soft pine needles, in a spot protected from the cold wind, was immensely comfortable.

Lee woke the crowd next morning.  “All rustle,” he yelled.  “Thirty-five miles to Mormon Lake.  Good road.  We’ll camp there to-night.”

How strange that the eagerness to get home now could only be compared to the wild desire for the woods a few weeks back!  We made an early start.  The team horses knew that road.  They knew they were now on the way home.  What difference that made!  Jaded as they were they trotted along with a briskness never seen before on that trip.  It began to be a job for us to keep up with Lee, who was on the wagon.  Unless a rider is accustomed to horseback almost all of the time a continuous trot on a hard road will soon stove him up.  My horse had an atrocious trot.  Time and again I had to fall behind to a walk and then lope ahead to catch up.  I welcomed the hills that necessitated Lee walking the teams.