Trent woke to a sound of laughter--peal after peal on the morning air. He sat up, listened, looked at his watch, sprang up and dressed. He went out around the cabin to the spot from which the laughter came, punctuated by a strange and unidentified noise. A slight boy in khaki breeches, shirt, and boots, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down on his head, was conversing with a small gray burro, who lifted his long neck and emitted unearthly sounds, at which the boy laughed.
"If that pet belongs to you, young man, you might lead him off my premises."
"He's singing a hymn to the rising sun," said Bob, turning to him.
"My word, you are Bob sure enough now," he exclaimed.
"We certainly like it on you," he remarked in surprised admiration.
"Here's Bill," she interrupted him, as the guide rode up leading the ponies. He stared at Bob with delight.
"Got an extry boy in this party, ain't we? How many of ye is there?"
"According to my appetite there's six of me," she laughed. "I can't wait to go up any mountain before breakfast."
"Wa'al, I got to thinkin' 'bout that, and I jest made a camp up the trail 'bout a mile, and the coffee's bilin' right now. Git yer blankets and knapsacks out, and we'll strop 'em on, an' git up there before it biles over."
In ten minutes they were off after Bill, the ponies on the run. The air nipped with a touch of frost in it. The mountains stood out as clear as if they were cut out of coloured paper and pasted on the flat sky. As they neared Bill's camp the smell of coffee and bacon greeted them.
"All the perfumes of Arabia can't touch that for smell," laughed Paul.
Bill and a cowboy assistant served a breakfast that no New York hotel could surpass; the mountain air gave a zest that no hothouse fruit ever produced, as appetizer. They ate like hungry hounds, and an hour later, all packed and mounted, they said good-bye to the cowboy chêf and started on their way.
Bill rode well in advance, then Bob, then Paul. Bob's pony was a constant amusement, he was too nervous for the average, inexperienced rider, so he had not been ridden much. He had a distinct suspicion of rocks, overhanging trees, and things that darted across the road.
"He's a dancer. The equine Vernon Castle," Bob laughed, after a _pas seul_ in a narrow and most inconvenient spot.