The boys bunked in one big room.  It was very much like a picnic for them, and would often bring back pleasant memories whenever they looked at the rather clever view Will managed to get of the interior, with his chums and himself lolling there.

In the morning there was pretty much of a bustle around the ranch house.

“Ready, boys?” called Mr. Mabie, as he appeared with his gun strapped across his back, as the easiest way of carrying it.

A chorus of affirmatives greeted his question.

“Then mount, and we’ll be off.  They’ve gone on ahead last night with the tents and foodstuff, so that we’ll find things in pretty much shipshape when we get on the ground.”

“Say, they do things right out in this big country, eh?” said Bluff to Frank as the two of them galloped off in company.

The morning was fair and the air sharp enough to be bracing.

“Never saw anything to equal the atmosphere here,” remarked Frank as their host came alongside.  “There seems to be a tonic in it that even we do not have up in Maine or the Adirondacks.  It makes you feel like shouting all the time.”

“Everybody says the same when they first come.  Presently you will grow accustomed to its invigorating tone, and quiet down.  It is caused by the dry air.  We are a long way from the Atlantic, and these mighty mountains to the west act as a buffer to the moisture-laden air from the Pacific.”

Crossing the valley, they were soon penetrating among the foothills at the base of the great uplifts, the tops of which bore eternal snow.

Wilder grew the scenery as they penetrated deeper into the wilderness.  Frank and his chums were almost awed by the grandeur of their surroundings.  At the same time, Jerry kept an eager eye on the watch for signs of game.  The sportsman spirit was strong in his nature, and generally forged to the front.

It was Frank, however, who first chanced to spy something that excited his attention.

“What is that moving up yonder, Mr. Mabie?  There!  Look!  I declare if it didn’t jump straight across from that high rock to the other!  Is that a Rocky Mountain sheep, sir?” he asked.

“Just what it is, my lad; and if you feel inclined, there is a chance for you to get a shot at it,” came the quick reply.

“I would like it, first rate,” declared Frank, immediately changing his rifle from his back to his hands.

“All right, then.  Listen, and I’ll tell you how it may be done.  We’ll rest our horses right here, for the last climb over this rough ridge to the bank of the swift river lying between.  You drop down here and make your way along until you can get a chance to shoot.  It will be a long shot, remember, so make allowances; and the wind is with you, not against you.”

“I’ll try my best, sir,” said Frank, slipping off his horse.

“Be very careful as you crawl along, for a slip might cost you your life,” were the last words he heard the stockman say as he began to descend the little declivity in order to make his way along its base, so as to remain concealed from the quarry.