Free More Adventures Of The Great Brain by John D. Fitzgerald Page A

and pieces of bacon all boiled in water in a big frying pan and some more sourdough biscuits with honey.

        The next morning we had fried potatoes and bacon and more sourdough biscuits. Then Papa studied both sides of the canyon.

    “We’ll go up the left side,” he said.

        Sweyn looked at the steep slope of the canyon. “That is impossible,” he said. “The buckboard will tip over.”

        “No it won’t,” Papa said. “You will tie one end of your lariat under the buckboard seat to the clamp that holds the seat in place. You will snag the other end of your lariat to the pommel of your saddle, and make certain the cinch on your saddle is good and tight. You will ride Dusty upslope from me opposite the buckboard about fifteen feet. The mustang will prevent the buckboard from tipping over.”

        “But all our supplies will fall out of the buckboard,” Sweyn protested.

        “Nonsense,” Papa said. “We will cover our supplies with the tent and tie the stake ropes on the tent underneath the buckboard.” Papa took a deep breath. “I am enjoying teaching you boys how to rough it. It is a trick used by early pioneers to bypass such obstacles as this cliff when they had no roads.”

        When everything was ready, we had to go back about half a mile so the pull wouldn’t be too steep for the team. Papa hadn’t gone more than twenty yards when the slope of the canyon became so steep the buckboard was riding on two wheels. The only thing preventing it from tipping over was Sweyn’s sure-footed mustang. I died a thousand deaths fearing the lariat would break and Papa would be dashed to death down the side of the canyon. But we finally made it to the top of the cliff and back onto the dry creek bed.

        The going was pretty easy from there to the top of the mountain, which we reached just before dark. It was very cold, and after supper we all slept in our blankets in the tent.

        Going down the other side of the mountain the next day was easy. We came to a mountain valley that turned out to be a fishing and hunting paradise, just like Papa had promised. There was a sparkling stream filled with trout. Small game was plentiful.

        We remained in our mountain paradise for four days. We dined on quail, pheasant, sage hens, rabbits, and wild turkeys, as well as rainbow trout. Everything was perfect until the time came to leave for home.

        “We’ll take a shortcut out,” Papa announced after we’d eaten breakfast and were breaking camp.

        Tom stopped folding our tent and looked at Papa. “How can we take a shortcut when we’ve never been here before?” he asked.

        “I’ve always prided myself on my sense of direction,” Papa said. “We will follow this valley. It will bring us out of the mountains just a few miles above Adenville.”

        We finished packing and loading the buckboard and were ready to go when Tom put his hand on the front wheel.

    “I’m going to walk behind, Papa,” he said.

        Papa looked surprised. “Why walk?” he asked. “The bottom of the valley is quite level and nothing but sagebrush and a few trees.”

    “I just feel like walking,” Tom said.

     
        Just before we stopped to camp for the night, the stream turned to a canyon on the left, and there was another canyon to the right. Papa said we’d take the canyon to the right the next morning.

    “But Dad,” Sweyn protested, “what will we do for water?”

        “There are plenty of springs in these mountains,” Papa said. “We must take the canyon to the right because Adenville lies in that direction.”

        Well, all I can say is that Papa was right about one thing. There were springs in those mountains with enough water for us and the horses. But it sure wasn’t the way to Adenville. The canyon to the right came to a fork of two more canyons. We took the one to the right and ended up in a blind canyon. We came back and took the