Exhausted from the excitement of their arrival and the long ride, Tom and Larry were so deep in slumber that though Mr. Wilder called them when he himself got up, they did not wake. His own sons, however, heard his call and quickly crawled from their blankets. "Come on, we'll get breakfast. Let Tom and Larry sleep," exclaimed their father. "Remember, they are not so accustomed to riding as you two are." This caution was uttered just in time, for Horace was in the very act of yanking the youthful commander by the foot when his father spoke. Not long did it take to prepare the food, and Bill was just pouring the coffee when Mr. Wilder aroused his guests. "Wh--what is it?" gasped Larry, sitting up and staring about him dazedly. "It's breakfast, that's all," said Horace. "Hey, Mr. Commander, you'll be court-martialed if you miss grub." And he proceeded to drag Tom from his bed of boughs by the heels. Chagrined to think they had not helped with the meal, Tom and Larry quickly arose and ran to the brook to wash. As they stood at the pool they forgot their ablutions in the beauty of the scene before them. The grass of the prairie was heavy with dew and in the rose glow of the sky the particles of moisture sparkled and glistened like countless crystals. "Seems like fairyland," whispered Tom, as though afraid if he spoke out loud the scene would vanish. A call from Horace, however, roused them to action, and in a few minutes they were, eating heartily. "What sort of a brook is that?" asked Larry. "I didn't see any outlet, yet water keeps running into the pool all the time." "There must be some underground stream into which it empties," replied the ranchman. "There are two such subterranean rivers in these hills, and, I suppose this pool connects with one of them." Discussion of such phenomena was prevented by his continuing: "Hurry now and pack up. I'll bring up the ponies while you are getting ready." Eager to begin the ascent of the hills, the boys worked rapidly, and by the time Mr. Wilder appeared with the horses everything was in the saddle bags, though Horace had dispensed with the formality of wiping the dishes. It was the task of but a few minutes to make fast the saddle bags and blankets, and just as the sun flooded the plains with its golden light the hunters swung into their saddles. Riding southward, Mr. Wilder followed the base of the hills for a good mile till he came to a well-worn trail.