"While Sandy is entertaining," Ross had told Steele, "and Waymart seldom says two sentences at one sitting, and next to never meets my eye, yet, if it came right down to a choice, I believe I'd rather travel along with Waymart than with Sandy." "Your choice is all right," Steele had replied. "If Waymart would cut loose from Sandy, he'd earn an honest living. It's Sandy that's the head, though. It's Sandy that plans; Waymart furnishes the feet and arms. Sandy's good company, but I wouldn't trust him with my pocketbook around the corner. Not," Steele added, "that he'd steal it in such a way that the law could touch him. No, he'd have the pocketbook, but it 'ud leave him free to look any jury in the eye and to shake hands with me afterward." The new sled made its first journey down into Miners' Camp one Sunday in December two weeks after Ross had ridden down with the sheriff. Waymart went ahead with one of the leading-ropes over his shoulder, and Sandy behind, steadying the empty vehicle around the shoulder of Crosby. Waymart led because he was the heaviest, and there was a deep fall of snow to contend against except around the shoulder, where, fortunately, the wind had swept the mountain clean. As the trail broadened beyond, Waymart paused to survey the low-hanging clouds. Ross, in the rear, stopped and studied the mountains which Nature had in ages past taken in her gigantic hands and flung into the canon between Dundee and Crosby, compelling Wood River to crawl and worm and wind and cut its way deep and narrow down into Miners' Camp. "I wonder," exclaimed Ross suddenly to Sandy, "what is beyond that conglomeration of peaks." "Wood River canon still, clean over on top of the Divide, and you can follow it on horseback right through. Part of the time up there," waving his hand toward the jumble of mountains which seemingly ended the canon, "it's pretty rocky trailin', especially in winter, but it can be done." Sandy rested one foot on the edge of the sled. Waymart glued his eyes on the Camp far below. From various projecting stovepipes volumes of smoke were curling straight up in the windless air. From the tunnel of the Mountain Company almost opposite them came a succession of blasts which stirred the echoes between Dundee and Crosby. The Mountain Company were no respecters of Sunday. They were also working day and night in view of the near shut-down of the works. But Ross's gaze was seeking to penetrate further toward the source of Wood River. "Any one living beyond there?" he asked. Sandy grinned. "Elk, mountain-sheep, coyotes, bears, and timber wolves." "But no people?" "Nope. There ain't a man livin' 'twixt here and the Yellowstone Park--now. Last summer a few prospectors sort of strolled up Wood River a few dozen miles, but they hiked it out, I tell ye, when snow come." "I wish," Ross said impulsively, "that I could go over there exploring."