“Well, old man, what are you so glum about?” inquired Ham.  “One would think you had been to a funeral instead of chatting with the most humorous of old mountaineers.  You aren’t getting weak in the knees already, are you?”

Mr. Allen came to the rescue.

“No, Ham, he’s just like me—­busy thinking of the really admirable qualities of the old man.  You would have to hunt a long, long time these days before you would find another such old timer as Dad.  He has lived a rough life all his days.  He has been knocked about from pillar to post for ninety long years.  Just think of the store of experience that is gathered into that one life—­frontiersman, cattle man, freighter, prospector, business man, soldier, and philosopher.  Through all his disappointments, hardships, and discouragements he has still remained a decided optimist, always happy and cheerful, and is a veritable sage when it comes to good, common horse-sense.  I’d rather take Dad’s opinion of a man than any one’s I know of in this world.  It wouldn’t be in polished English, but it would be shrewd and just.”

From up the valley there came several long, heavy thuds.  They soon reached the point where the valley widened out and the underbrush disappeared to give place to a splendid growth of tall, clean Douglas spruce.  Somewhere back in the timber a woodsman was chopping.

As the trail wound in and out among the great tree trunks, the party soon came to a little clearing on which was pitched a small tent.  Close beside it a little spring trickled out of a fissure in the rocks.  At the far side of the tent, with his back to the approaching group, worked a man.  He was engaged in chopping young spruce logs into lengths for mine props.  Fat called out in his cheeriest voice, “Hello, there; must be going to build a cabin!” The man turned and a broad smile crossed his face.

“Yes, an underground one,” he said.  Then, in a surprised tone, he continued, “Well, well, aren’t you the fellows I saw over at Ben’s place the other evening?” Without waiting for a reply, he went on:  “Why, yes, there is my friend of the wreck!  How do you do, lad?  It looks like you fellows are going to make somewhat of a journey, from the appearance of your traps.  Where to, may I inquire?  Looking for something definite, or just out, like myself, to get a little of the wilderness spirit into your systems?”

“Well, I hardly expected to see you up here in the mountains,” said Willis.  “It seems we have met a good many times since spring.  What are you doing up here, anyway?” He turned and surveyed the valley.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” replied the man, as he leaned on his ax-handle.  “It’s like this.  When I was a young man, like yourself, I developed a great love for life in the wilderness.  My father was a mountain ranchman in the Sierra Nevadas, so I had ample opportunity to satisfy my greatest desire—­to roam the hills and valleys and to learn first-hand the art of getting along well