For a mile or so the trail promised well. It followed a contour line around the face of the hill and seemed to be leading just where Scott wanted to go. The country was open, with only a scattering stand of bull pine. The trail which followed a little natural bench had required very little building, but it was distinct and offered good traveling. Scott was making good time and having visions of counting some of the sheep in spite of the fire when Jed came to a sudden stop on the edge of a steep cañon.
The trail dived into it and was quickly lost in a dense growth of Engelmann’s spruce. Some of the spruces poked so high up out of the cañon that he could not see the other side. The descent was so steep that he was afraid to try Jed on it till he found out where it came out. So he dismounted and scrambled down on foot. The trail was very narrow and the needles on the protruding spruce boughs stuck through his clothes like thorns. He had misgivings of ever being able to get Jed through there.
The cañon, instead of being a mere cut in the mountain side as he had expected, was flat bottomed and broad. The trail continued to thread its way through the spruce thicket, distinct but crooked. It seemed more like a foot trail than a horse trail, and Scott looked in vain for any hoof prints. He considered going across on foot to the north slope—it could not be much over a mile now—to where he could see the valley beyond. He would lose a great deal of time now if he attempted to ride back to the fork and up over the mountain peak. He hurried on, pricking his face and hands painfully on the spruce needles.
Suddenly he was confronted by a solid wall of spruce and a small sign reading “Th 7—’14.” Scott gave an exclamation of disgust and started back over the trail at a run regardless of the spruce boughs which spurred him mercilessly at every jump. He knew what it was now. Some experimental plots for the study of the growth of spruce had been laid out there in the cañon and the trail was only a path leading to them. He stubbed his toe in his haste and dived head first into one of the prickly spruces.
“Heth may know all about sheep,” he growled as he panted up the steep side of the cañon, “but he knows mighty little about the trails.” And if he had had Heth right there then, he would probably have punched his head, for Jed was gone.