“Yes; but that will take care of her alone, son,” said Colonel Colvin kindly. “I don’t know but the best way to learn mining is the same as the way you learned soldiering, from the ranks up. I’m taking you to the best mining state in the Union, where you can handle the stuff right on the ground, find your own lodes, study mineralogy with the minerals in your own hands,--so you will know carbonate ore when you see it. That’s half the battle; the technology of process work you can pick up right at the mines and mills. There’s lots of room for the young mineralogist who can go right along with his own saddle horse and outfit, take care of himself in a dry country, and know real lodes when he sees them. We’re going up through the eastern part of the Navaho reservation, where there’s pine forests. Big John used to punch cows down in that country; it’s an old story to him. We’ll explore some ancient cliff dwellings up in the Canyon Cheyo and then cross over to the Colorado and get up on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. That’s the best cougar, bear and deer country in the Southwest. How’d you like to camp in a rainless land, boys? Where there’s no snow, no dreary northeasters, lots of queer new plants and trees that you never saw before, and where a man can ride like thunder on a hot cougar trail under great western pines! Where a brush sunshade is all the camp you need for weeks on end, and where you can loaf or explore or shoot or weave blankets or do anything you darn please, anyhow, any time! Something new,--eh?” “You said it, Dad! Gee, I’ve just longed to camp out in that country, for once!” sighed Sid. “How about you, Les?” “’Fraid I can’t,” returned his chum. “Gorry, but I’d love to, though!” he added, wistfully. “But you _shall_, my boy!” came back the Colonel, positively. “Your mother and I have talked it over. She has enough to live on with you away, and it will be a practical opening in mining for you. I know some big people down there in Prescott, and I know what I am talking about!” he insisted. Scotty leaped at Sid with glad enthusiasm. “Whee--_yow_!” he yelled. “Am I _really_ going?--Thanks, Colonel, ever so much!” he gasped out, wringing his hand. “What do we take for outfit, sir?” “The little five-by-six-foot paraffined muslin wall tent for you two. Just a light tarp and my Army bed roll for me”--grinned the Colonel. “Otherwise your Montana outfits will do, just as they stand----” “What--in that hot country, Dad?” inquired Sid, incredulously. “She’s cold enough, at night, son,” laughed the Colonel. “Those stag shirts and the canvas fleece-lined coats will come in mighty handy. Sid, you’ll take the .30 Government carbine, and Scotty the Doctor’s .405, while I’ll pack the old meat gun, the .35 Model ’95. Big John’s attending to the horse outfit.”