Hyundai Forklift 14BR-7 15BR-7 18BR-7 20BR-7 25BR-7 Service Manual

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"It's time we were off, too, old man," said Glen, as he started to
follow the team.
"I can't move, Glen! Oh, help me! I'm sinking!" screamed Binney, in
a tone of inexpressible anguish.
Glen dropped the rope, and sprang to his companion's assistance.
At the same instant there came a great shout from the bank, "Hurry
up, there's a freshet coming! Hurry! Hurry, or you'll be swept away!"
With both arms about Binney, Glen was straining every nerve of his
muscular young body to tear his friend loose from the grasp of the
terror that held him. He could not; but a wall of black water four feet
high, that came rushing down on them with an angry roar, was
mightier even than the quicksand, and, seizing both the boys in its
irresistible embrace, it wrenched them loose and overwhelmed them.
 Chapter XXV.
SWEPT AWAY BY A FRESHET.

The rush of waters that wrenched Binney Gibbs loose from the grasp
of the quicksand which had seized him as he remained motionless
for a minute, forgetful of his own danger in the excitement caused
by that of the team, also flung the rope they had been holding
against Glen Eddy. He held to it desperately with one hand, while,
with the other arm about his companion, he prevented him from
being swept away. As the mad waters dashed the boys from their
feet and closed over them, it seemed as though Glen's arms must be
torn from their sockets, and he would have had to let go had not
Binney also succeeded in grasping the rope so that the great strain
was somewhat relieved. Gasping for breath, they both rose to the
surface.
A huge white object was bearing directly down on them. They could
not avoid it. Glen was the first to recognize its nature. "It's the
wagon!" he shouted. "Grab hold of it, and hang on for your life!"
Then it struck them and tore loose their hold of the rope. They both
managed to clutch it, though Binney's slight strength was so nearly
exhausted that, but for Glen, he must speedily have let go and sunk
again beneath the foam-flecked waters. Now the other's sturdy
frame and athletic training came splendidly to his aid. Obtaining a
firm foothold in the flooded wagon, he pulled Binney up to him by
the sheer strength of his muscular young arms. For a moment they
stood together panting for breath, and the weaker boy clinging to
the stronger.
But the water was still rising; and, as the heavily laden wagon could
not float, it seemed likely to be totally submerged. "It's no use, Glen.
We'll be drowned, anyhow," said Binney, despairingly.
"Oh, no, we won't. Not just yet, anyway," answered the other, trying
to sustain his companion's spirits by speaking hopefully. "We can get
out of the water entirely, by climbing up on top of the cover, and I
guess it will bear us."
It was a suggestion worth trying; and, though the undertaking was
perilous and difficult in the extreme, under the circumstances, they
finally succeeded in accomplishing it, and found themselves perched
on the slippery, sagging surface of the canvas cover, that, supported
by stout ash bows, was stretched above the wagon.
All this time their strange craft, though not floating, was borne
slowly but steadily down stream by the force of the current. Every
now and then it seemed as though about to capsize; and, had it
been empty, it must certainly have done so; but its heavy load,
acting like ballast in a boat, kept it upright. It headed in all
directions, and at times, when its wheels could revolve on the
bottom of the river, it moved steadily and rapidly. It was when it got
turned broadside to the current that the two shivering figures,
clutching at their uncertain support, became most apprehensive, and
expected it to be overturned by the great pressure brought to bear
against it.
 "THE STRANGE CRAFT WAS BORNE SLOWLY DOWN
STREAM."

How slowly the minutes and hours dragged by! It was about
midnight when the freshet struck them and they started on this most
extraordinary voyage; but from that time until they saw the first
streaks of rosy light in the east seemed an eternity.
More than once during the night the wagon brought up against
some obstruction, and remained motionless for longer or shorter
intervals of time; but it had always been forced ahead again, and
made to resume its uncertain wanderings.
Now, as the welcome daylight crept slowly over the scene, it found
the strange ark, with its two occupants, again stranded, and this
time immovably so. At length Glen exclaimed, joyfully: "There's the
western bank, the very one we want to reach, close to us. I believe
we can swim to it, as easy as not."
"But I can't swim, you know," replied Binney, dolefully.
"That's so; I forgot," said Glen, in a dismayed tone. "But look," he
added, and again there was a hopeful ring to his voice, "there are
the tops of some bushes between us and it. The water can't be very
deep there. Perhaps we can touch bottom, and you can wade if you
can't swim. I'm going over there and take soundings."
Binney dreaded being left alone, and was about to beg his
companion not to desert him, but the words were checked on his
lips by the thought of the reputation he had to sustain. So, as Glen
pulled off his wet clothing, he said, "All right, only be very careful
and don't go too far, for I think I would rather drown with you than
be left here all alone."
"Never fear!" cried Glen; "swimming is about the one thing I can do.
So, here goes!"
He had climbed down, and stood on the edge of the submerged
wagon body as he spoke. Now he sprang far out in the yellow
waters, and the next moment was making his way easily through
them towards the bushes. The swift current carried him down-
stream; but at length he caught one of them, and, letting his feet
sink, touched bottom in water up to his neck.
"It's all right!" he shouted back to Binney. Pulling himself along from
one bit of willow to another, he waded towards the bank until the
water was not more than up to his waist. Then he made his way up-
stream until he was some distance above the place where the wagon
was stranded, and, two minutes later, he had waded and swum back
to it.
Binney had watched every movement anxiously, and now he said,
"That's all well enough for you; but I don't see how I am going to
get there."
"By resting your hands on my shoulders and letting me swim with
you till you can touch bottom, of course," answered Glen.
He could not realize Binney's dread of the water, nor what a struggle
against his natural timidity took place in the boy's mind before he
answered, "Very well, if you say so, Glen, I'll trust you."
While he was laying aside his water-soaked clothing and preparing
for the dreaded undertaking, Glen suddenly uttered an exclamation
of dismay. He had spied several horsemen riding along the river-
bank towards them. Were they white men or Indians? Did their
coming mean life or death?
"I'm afraid they are Indians," said Glen; "for our camp must be ten
miles off."
Binney agreed with him that they must have come at least that
distance during the night, and the boys watched the oncoming
horsemen with heavy hearts.
"I'd rather drown than let them get me again," said Glen.
But Binney had not had the other's experience with Indians, and to
him nothing could be more terrible than water.
Long and earnestly they watched, filled with alternate hopes and
fears. The riders seemed to move very slowly. All at once, Glen
uttered a shout of joy. "They are white men!" he cried. "I can see
their hats;" and, seizing his wet shirt, he began to wave it frantically
above his head.
That his signal was seen was announced by a distant cheer, and
several shots fired in quick succession. A few minutes later, six white
men reined in their horses on the bank, just abreast the wagon.
They were hardly able to credit their eyes as they recognized, in the
two naked figures clinging to it, those whom they had been so
certain were long ago drowned, and for whose bodies they were
searching. As they hurriedly consulted concerning how best to effect
a rescue, they were amazed to see both boys clamber down from
their perch, and drop into the turbid waters, one after the other.
When they realized that Glen and Binney were swimming, and trying
in this way to reach the shore, they forced their horses down the
steep bank and dashed into the shallow overflow of the bottom-land
to meet them.
At that moment Binney Gibbs, by trusting himself so implicitly to
Glen's strength and skill, in an element where he was so utterly
helpless, was displaying a greater courage than where, acting under
impulse, he sprang from his mule the day before, and ran back to
fight Indians. The bravest deeds are always those that are
performed deliberately and after a careful consideration of their
possible consequences.
As "Billy" Brackett, who was the first to reach the boys, relieved Glen
of his burden, he exclaimed,
"Well, if I had the luck of you fellows I'd change my name to
Vanderbilt and run for Congress! We were sure you were gone up
this time, and the best I hoped for was to find your bodies. Instead
of that, here you are, hardly out of sight of camp, perched on the
top of a wagon, as chipper as a couple of sparrows after a
rainstorm."
"Where is camp?" inquired Glen, who was now wading easily along
beside the other's horse.
"Just around that farther bend, up there."
"What made it come so far down the river, and off the road?"
"It hasn't. It's right at the ford, where we crossed last night."
"But I thought that was at least ten miles from here."
"Ten miles! Why, my son, you must have imagined you were
travelling on a four-wheeled steamboat all night, instead of an old
water-logged prairie schooner. We are not, at this minute, quite a
mile from the place where you started on your cruise."
It was hard for the boys to realize the truth of this statement; but so
it was; and, during those tedious hours of darkness they had only
travelled rods instead of miles, as they had fancied.
After the short delay necessary to recover the boys' clothing from
the wagon, they were triumphantly borne back to camp by the
rescuing-party. There the enthusiasm with which they were received
was only equalled by the amazement of those who crowded about
them and listened to the account of their adventure.
By means of a double team of mules, and some stout ropes, even
the wagon on which they had made their curious voyage was
recovered, and found to be still serviceable, though the greater part
of its load was ruined.
The river was still an impassable stream, as wide as the Mississippi
at St. Louis, and was many feet deep over the place, on its farther
side, where they had camped at sunset. Thus there was no danger
of another attack from Indians. Two hours after sunrise the explorers
were again wending their way westward, rejoicing over their double
escape, and over the recovery of the two members who had been
given up as lost.
 Chapter XXVI.
RUNNING THE LINE.

After this day and night, crowded so full of incident, four days of
steady travel brought General Lyle's expedition to a point close to
the boundary-line between Kansas and Colorado, where their
surveys were to begin. The last hundred miles of their journey had
been through a region studded with curious masses of sandstone.
These were scattered far and wide over the Plains, and rose to a
height of from one hundred to three hundred feet, resembling
towers, monuments, castles, and ruins of every description. It was
hard to believe that many of them were not the work of human
hands; and to Glen and Binney they formed an inexhaustible subject
for wonder and speculation.
They were now more than three thousand feet above the sea-level;
the soil became poorer with every mile; there were fewer streams,
and along those that did exist timber was almost unknown.
The first line of survey was to be a hard one; for it was to run
through the very worst of this country—from the Smoky Hill to the
Arkansas, a region hitherto unexplored, and known only to the few
buffalo hunters who had crossed it at long intervals. The distance
was supposed to be about seventy miles, and there was said to be
no water along the entire route. But both a transit and a level line
must be run over this barren region, and the distance must be
carefully measured. A good day's work for a surveying-party,
engaged in running a first, or preliminary, line in an open country, is
eight or ten miles; and, at this rate, the distance between the Smoky
Hill and the Arkansas rivers could be covered in a week. But a week
without water was out of the question, and General Lyle determined
to do it in three days.
On the night before beginning this remarkable survey, every canteen
and bottle that could be found was filled with water, as were several
casks. Everybody drank as much as he could in the morning, and all
the animals were watered the very last thing. Everything was packed
and ready for a start by daylight, and long before sunrise the
working-party was in the field. The first division was to run the first
two miles. Its transit was set up over the last stake of the old survey
that had been ended at that point, and the telescope was pointed in
the direction of the course now to be taken. The division engineer,
with his front flagman, had already galloped half a mile away across
the plain. There they halted, and the gayly painted staff, with its
fluttering red pennon, was held upright. Then it was moved to the
right or left, as the transit-man, peering through his telescope,
waved his right or left arm. Finally, he waved both at a time, and the
front flag was thrust into the ground. It was on line.
Now the head chainman starts off on a run, with his eyes fixed on
the distant flag, and dragging a hundred feet of glistening steel-links
behind him. "Stick!" shouts the rear chainman, who stands beside
the transit, as he grasps the end of the chain and pulls it taut.
"Stuck!" answers the man in front, thrusting one of the steel pins
that he carries in his hand into the ground. Then he runs on, and the
rear chainman runs after him, but just a hundred feet behind.
Two axemen, one with a bundle of marked stakes in his arms, and
the other carrying an axe with which to drive them, follow the chain
closely. At the end of each five hundred feet they drive a stake. If
stakes were not so scarce in this country, they would set one at the
end of every hundred feet. It does not make much difference; for
these stakes will not remain standing very long anyhow. The buffalo
will soon pull them up, by rubbing and scratching their heads against
them. At the end of every half-mile, a mound of earth—or stones, if
they can be found—is thrown up; and these the Indians will level
whenever they come across them. Perhaps some of them will be
left, though.
While the chainmen are measuring the distance to that front flag,
and the axemen are driving stakes and throwing up mounds, the
transit-man, mounted on a steady-going mule, with the transit on his
shoulder, is galloping ahead to where the front flag awaits him. Only
the back flagman is left standing at the place from which the first
sight was taken.
The front flagman thrust a small stake in the ground, drove a tack in
its centre, and held his flag on it before he waved the transit-man
up. Now the transit is set over this stake so that the centre of the
instrument is directly over the tack; and while it is being made ready
the front flag is again galloping away over the rolling prairie, far in
advance of the rest of the party.
The transit-man first looks through his telescope at the back flag,
now far behind him, and waves to him to come on. Then the
telescope is reversed, and he is ready to wave the front flag into line
as soon as he stops.
The leveller, with two rodmen, all well mounted, follow behind the
transit-party, noting, by means of their instruments, the elevation
above sea-level of every stake that is driven.
So the work goes on with marvellous rapidity—every man and horse
and mule on a run until two miles have been chained and it is time
for the breathless first division to have a rest.
Mr. Hobart has watched their work carefully. He has also made some
changes in his force, and is going to see what sort of a front flagman
Glen Eddy will make. This is because Nettle has proved herself the
fleetest pony in the whole outfit.
"Two miles in fifty-two minutes!" shouts Mr. Hobart to his men, as
the stake that marks the end of ten thousand five hundred and sixty
feet is driven. "Boys, we must do better than that."
"Ay, ay, sir! We will!" shout the "bald heads," as they spring to the
places the first-division men are just leaving.
Mr. Hobart, Glen, and a mounted axeman are already galloping to
the front. They dash across a shallow valley, lying between two great
swells of the prairie, and mount the gentle slope on its farther side,
a mile away. It is a long transit sight; but "Billy" Brackett can take it.
The boy who rides beside the division engineer is very proud of his
new position, and sits his spirited mare like a young lancer. The
slender, steel-shod, red-and-white staff of his flag-pole, bearing its
gay pennon, that Glen has cut a little longer than the others, and
nicked with a swallow-tail, looks not unlike a lance. As the cool
morning air whistles past him, the boy's blood tingles, his eyes
sparkle, and he wonders if there can be any more fascinating
business in the world than surveying and learning to become an
engineer. He thinks of the mill and the store with scorn. It beats
them away out of sight, anyhow.
As they reach the crest of the divide, from which they can see far
away on all sides, Mr. Hobart, using his field-glass to watch the
movements of "Billy" Brackett's arms, directs Glen where to place his
flag. "Right—more—more—away over to the right—there—steady!
Left, a little—steady—so! Drive a stake there! Now hold your flag on
it! A trifle to the right—that's good! Drive the tack! Move him up—all
right, he's coming!" Then, leaving the axeman to point out the stake,
just driven, to the transit-man, the engineer and his young flagman
again dash forward.
"Two miles in thirty-eight minutes! That is quick work! I congratulate
you and your division, Mr. Hobart." So said the chief-engineer as the
men of the second division, dripping with perspiration, completed
their first run, and, turning the work over to those of the third, took
their vacant places in the wagon that followed the line.
The morning sun was already glowing with heat, and by noon its
perpendicular rays were scorching the arid plain with relentless fury.
Men and animals alike drooped beneath it, but there was no pause
in the work. It must be rushed through in spite of everything. About
noon they passed a large buffalo wallow, half filled with stagnant
water, that the animals drank eagerly.
That evening, when it was too dark to distinguish the cross-hairs in
the instruments, the weary engineers knocked off work, with a
twenty-one-mile survey to their credit. They were too tired to pitch
tents that night, but spread their blankets anywhere, and fell asleep
almost as soon as they had eaten supper. There was no water, no
wood, and only a scanty supply of sun-dried grass. It was a dry
camp.
The next day was a repetition of the first. The tired animals,
suffering from both hunger and thirst, dragged the heavy wagons
wearily over the long undulations of the sun-baked plain.
Occasionally they crossed dry water-courses; but at sunset they had
not found a drop of the precious fluid, and another dry camp was
promised for that night.
As the men of the second division drove the last stake of another
twenty-one-mile run, and, leaving the line, moved slowly in the
direction of camp, the mule ridden by Binney Gibbs suddenly threw
up its head, sniffed the air, and, without regard to his rider's efforts
to control him, started off on a run.
"Stop us! We are running away!" shouted Binney; and, without
hesitation, Glen gave spurs to Nettle and dashed away in pursuit.
"What scrape are those young scatter-brains going to get into now?"
growled Mr. Hobart.
"I don't know," answered "Billy" Brackett; "but whatever it is they
will come out of it all right, covered with mud and glory. I suppose I
might as well begin to organize the rescuing-party, though."
 Chapter XXVII.
"COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY."

As "Billy" Brackett predicted they would, the two boys did return to
camp in about fifteen minutes, covered with mud and glory. At least
Binney Gibbs was covered with mud, and they brought the glorious
news that there were several large though shallow pools of water
not more than half a mile away. Binney's mule having scented it,
there was no stopping him until he had rushed to it, and, as usual,
flung his rider over his head into the very middle of one of the
shallow ponds. Glen had reached the place just in time to witness
this catastrophe, and to roar with laughter at the comical sight
presented by his companion, as the latter waded ruefully from the
pond, dripping mud and water from every point.
"You take to water as naturally as a young duck, Binney!" he
shouted, as soon as his laughter gave him a chance for words.
"No, indeed, I don't," sputtered poor Binney. "But somehow water
always seems to take to me, and I can get nearly drowned when
nobody else can find a drop to drink. As for that mule, I believe he
thinks I wouldn't know how to get off his back if he didn't pitch me
off."
In less than a minute after the boys got back with their report of
water, half the men in camp were hastening towards it, and the
entire herd of animals, in charge of a couple of teamsters, was
galloping madly in the same direction. The ponds were the result of
a heavy local rain of the night before; and, within a couple of days,
would disappear in the sandy soil as completely as though they had
never existed; but they served an admirable purpose, and the whole
party was grateful to Binney Gibbs's mule for discovering them.
So refreshed were the men by their unexpected bath, and so
strengthened were the animals by having plenty of water with both
their evening and morning meals, that the survey of the following
day covered twenty-four miles. It was the biggest day's work of
transit and level on record, and could only have been accomplished
under extraordinary circumstances.
This was the hardest day of the three to bear. The heat of the sun,
shining from an unclouded sky, was intolerable. As far as the eye
could reach there was no shadow, nor any object to break the
terrible monotony of its glare. A hot wind from the south whirled the
light soil aloft in suffocating clouds of dust. The men of the three
divisions were becoming desperate. They knew that this killing pace
could not be maintained much longer, and the twenty-four mile run
was the result of a tremendous effort to reach the Arkansas River
that day.
From each eminence, as they crossed it, telescope, field-glasses, and
straining eyes swept the sky-line in the hope of sighting the longed-
for river. Late in the afternoon some far away trees and a ribbon of
light were lifted to view against the horizon by the shimmering heat
waves; but this was at once pronounced to be only the tantalizing
vision of the mirage.
So, in a dry camp, the exhausted men and thirsty animals passed
the night. The latter, refusing to touch the parched grass or even
their rations of corn, made the hours hideous with their cries, and
spent their time in vain efforts to break their fastenings that they
might escape and seek to quench their burning thirst.
But even this night came to an end; and, with the first eastern
streaks of pink and gold so exquisitely beautiful through the rarefied
atmosphere of this region, the surveyors were once more in the
field. There was no merriment now, nor life in the work. It went on
amid a dogged silence. The transit and level were lifted slowly, as
though they were made of lead. The chain was dragged wearily
along at a walk. It was evident that the limit of endurance was
nearly reached. Scouts were sent out on both sides to search for
water. There was no use sending anybody ahead to hunt up that
mirage, or at least so thought General Lyle. His maps showed the
river to be miles away; but they also showed a large creek, not far
to the westward; and towards this the hopes of the party were
turned. On the maps it was called "Sand Creek," a name made
infamous forever by a massacre of Indians, mostly women and
children, that took place on its banks in November, 1864. Then it had
contained water; but now it was true to its name, and the dispirited
scouts, returning from it, reported that its bed was but a level
expanse of dry, glistening sand.
As this report was being made, there came a quick succession of
shots from the front, and a thrill of new life instantly pervaded the
whole party. What could they indicate, if not good news of some
kind. The first division had completed its two miles, and the second
was running the line. "Billy" Brackett was preparing for one of his
famous mile sights at the front flag, with which Glen Eddy, riding
beside Mr. Hobart, was wearily toiling up a distant slope. Gazing at
them through his fine telescope, the transit-man could not at first
understand their extraordinary actions as they reached the top. He
saw Glen fling up his hat, and Mr. Hobart fire his pistol into the air.
Then Glen waved his flag, while the division engineer seemed to be
pointing to something in front of them.
"Well, quit your fooling and give me a sight, can't you?" growled
"Billy" Brackett to himself, but directly afterwards he shouted to
those near him, "I believe they've found water, and shouldn't wonder
if they'd located the Arkansas itself." Then he got his "sight," waved
"all right," mounted his mule, shouldered the transit, and galloped
away.
He was right; they had located the Arkansas, and the alleged mirage
of the evening before had been a reality after all. That night of
suffering had been spent within five miles of one of the largest rivers
that cross the Plains.
As Glen and Mr. Hobart reached the crest of that long slope they saw
its grassy valley outspread before them. They saw the scattered
timber lining its banks, and, best of all, they saw the broad, brown
flood itself, rolling down to join the distant Mississippi. By shots and
wavings they tried to communicate the joyful intelligence to those
who toiled so wearily behind them, and "Billy" Brackett, watching
them through his transit, had understood.
They waited on the ridge until he joined them, and then hastened
away towards the tempting river. When the next foresight was taken
Glen's flag was planted on the edge of that famous old wagon-road
of the Arkansas Valley known to generations of Plainsmen as the
Santa Fé Trail.
Glen had hardly waved his "all right" to the transit, before the
wagons came tearing down the slope with their mules on the keen
run. The perishing animals had seen the life-giving waters, and it
was with the greatest difficulty that they were restrained from
rushing into the river, wagons and all. The drivers only just
succeeded in casting loose the trace-chains, when each team, with
outstretched necks and husky brayings, plunged in a body over the
bank and into the river, burying their heads up to their eyes in the
cooling flood. It seemed as though they would drink themselves to
death, and when they finally, consented to leave the river and turn
their attention to the rich grasses of its bottom-lands, they were
evidently water-logged. It would be hours before they were again fit
for work.
But nobody wanted them to work. Not until the next morning would
the wagons move again. The splendid runs of the last three days
had earned a rest for men and animals alike. So it was granted
them, and no schoolboys ever enjoyed a half-holiday more. What a
luxury it was to have plenty of water again, not only to drink, but
actually to wash with and bathe in! And to lie in the shade of a tree!
Could anything be more delicious?
At sunrise the line was resumed; and, still working together, the
three divisions ran it for fifty miles up the broad valley of the
Arkansas.
A few days after striking the river they passed Bent's Fort, one of the
most famous of the old Plains trading-posts built by individuals long
before troops were sent out to occupy the land.
Its usefulness as a trading-station had nearly departed, for already
the Indians were leaving that part of the country, and those who
remained were kept too busy fighting to have any time for trading.
Its stout log stockade was, however, valuable to its builder as a
protection against attacks from Indians led by one of his own sons.
Their mother was a Cheyenne squaw, and though they, together
with their only sister, had been educated in St. Louis, the same as
white children, they had preferred to follow the fortunes of their
mother's people on returning to the Plains. Now the Cheyennes had
no more daring leader than George Bent, nor was there a girl in the
tribe so beautiful as his sister. The little fort, admirably located on a
high bluff overlooking the river, was filled with a curious mixture of
old Plainsmen, Indians, half-breed children, ponies, mules, burros,
and pet fawns. It was a place of noise and confusion at once
bewildering and interesting.
At the end of fifty miles from the point at which they entered the
Arkansas Valley, the explorers caught their first glimpse of the Rocky
Mountains, two white clouds that they knew to be the snow-capped
summits of the Spanish Peaks, a hundred miles away.
Here the expedition was divided. The first and third divisions were to
cross the river and proceed southwesterly, by way of the Raton
Mountains and Fort Union, to Santa Fé; while Mr. Hobart was to take
the second still farther up the Arkansas Valley, and almost due west
to the famous Sangre de Cristo Pass through the mountains, just
north of the Spanish Peaks. For two weeks longer they worked their
way slowly but steadily across the burning Plains, towards the
mountains that almost seemed to recede from them as they
advanced; though each day disclosed new peaks, while those
already familiar loomed up higher and grander with every mile.
Finally they were so near at hand that the weary toilers, choked with
the alkaline dust of the Plains, and scorched with their fervent heat,
could feast their eyes on the green slopes, cool, dark valleys, and
tumbling cascades, rushing down from glittering snow-fields. How
they longed to be among them, and with what joy did they at length
leave the treeless country of which they were so tired and enter the
timbered foot-hills!
Now, how deliciously cool were the nights, and how they enjoyed
the roaring camp-fires. What breathless plunges they took in ice-cold
streams of crystal water. How good fresh venison tasted after weeks
of salt bacon and dried buffalo meat, and how eagerly they ate raw
onions, and even raw potatoes, obtained at the occasional Mexican
ranches found nestled here and there in the lower valleys.
"I tell you," said Glen to Binney Gibbs, who had by this time become
his firm friend, "it pays to go without fresh vegetables for a couple of
months, just to find out what fine things onions and potatoes are."
 Chapter XXVIII.
LOST IN A MOUNTAIN SNOW-STORM.

A week was spent on the eastern slope of the mountains, running

lines through the Mosca and Cuchara passes. Finally, a camp was
made in a forest of balsam-firs, beside a great spring of ice-water,
that bubbled from a granite basin at the summit of the Sangre de
Cristo, nine thousand feet above sea-level. To Glen and Binney, who
had always dwelt in a flat country, and knew nothing of mountains,
this was a new and delightful experience. They never tired of gazing
off on the superb panorama outspread below them. To the east, the
view was so vast and boundless that it seemed as though the distant
blue of the horizon must be that of the ocean itself, and that they
were spanning half the breadth of a continent in a single sight. At
their feet lay the Plains they had just crossed, like a great green map
on which dark lines of timber and gleams of light marked the
Arkansas and its tributary streams, whose waters would mingle with
those of the Mississippi.
On the other hand, they could see, across the broad basin of the
San Luis Valley, other ranges of unknown mountains, whose
mysteries they were yet to explore. Through this western valley,
flowing southward, wound the shining ribbon of the Rio Grande.
Both north and south of them were mountain-peaks. To climb to the
very summit of one of these was Glen's present ambition, and his
longing eyes were turned more often to the snow-capped dome that
rose in solemn majesty on the south side of the pass than in any
other direction. He even succeeded in persuading Binney Gibbs that
to climb that mountain would be just a little better fun than anything
else that could be suggested. Still, he did not see any prospect of
their being allowed to make the attempt, and so tried not to think of
it.