In the morning there was pretty much of a bustle around the ranch house.
"Ready, boys?" called Mr. Mabie, as he appeared with his gun strapped
across his back, as the easiest way of carrying it.
A chorus of affirmatives greeted his question.
"Then mount, and we'll be off. They've gone on ahead last night with the
tents and foodstuff, so that we'll find things in pretty much shipshape
when we get on the ground."
"Say, they do things right out in this big country, eh?" said Bluff to
Frank as the two of them galloped off in company.
The morning was fair and the air sharp enough to be bracing.
"Never saw anything to equal the atmosphere here," remarked Frank as
their host came alongside. "There seems to be a tonic in it that even we
do not have up in Maine or the Adirondacks. It makes you feel like
shouting all the time."
"Everybody says the same when they first come. Presently you will grow
accustomed to its invigorating tone, and quiet down. It is caused by the
dry air. We are a long way from the Atlantic, and these mighty mountains
to the west act as a buffer to the moisture-laden air from the Pacific.
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