It was now late in the afternoon and they had hiked fifteen or eighteen miles. Once in the midafternoon they had heard, faint in the long distance, what they thought might be a locomotive whistle and this encouraged them to think that they were still within a few miles of the railroad line. Westy would not harbor, much less express, any misgivings as to the reliability of the sun as a guide. Perhaps it would be better to say that he would not admit any inability on his part to use it. Yet as the great orb began to descend upon the mountain peaks far to the right of their route and to tinge those wild heights with a crimson glow, he began to imbibe something of the spirit of loneliness and isolation which that vast, rugged country imparted. After all, amid such a fathomless wilderness of rock and mountain it would have been good to hear some one say, “Yes, just follow this road and take the second turn to your left.” “That’s West, isn’t it?” Westy asked, as they plodded on. “You mean where the sun is setting?” asked Warde. “Oh, absolutely.” “It sets there every night,” said Ed, “including Sundays and holidays.” “Well then,” said Westy, feeling a little silly, “we’re all right.” “We’re not all right,” said Warde; “at least _I’m_ not, I’m hungry.” “Well, here’s a brook,” said Westy. “Do you see—look over there in the west—do you see a little shiny spot away up between those two hills? Away up high, only kind of between the two hills? It’s only about half a mile or so. It’s the sun shining on this brook away up there. That shows it comes down between those two hills.” They all paused and looked. Up among those dark hills in the west was a little glinting spot like gold. It flickered and glistened. “Maybe it’s a bonfire,” said Warde. “I think it’s the headlight of a Ford,” said Ed. “A Ford can go anywhere a brook can go.” “You crazy dub,” said Westy. “My social error,” said Ed. “What do you say we go over there?” Westy said. “Do you see—notice on that hill where all the rocks are—do you see a big tree? If one of us climbed up that tree I bet we could see for miles and miles; we could see just where the road goes. It’s only about fifteen or twenty miles to the entrance of the park; maybe we could see something—some building or something. Then we could camp for the night up there and catch some fish. Wouldn’t you rather not reach Gardiner by the road? Maybe we can plan out a short-cut. Anyway, we can see what’s what. What do you say?” “The fish part sounds good to me,” said Ed. “How are we going to cook the fish?” Warde asked. Ed pulled out a handful of matches and exhibited them, winking in his funny way at Warde. “I thought you threw them away,” said Westy. “Do you think we couldn’t get a fire started without matches?”