worms that had come to the surface during the night's rain.

Was there ever such a happy crowd of fellows' setting forth on any
expedition? High boots, slouch hats, soft shirts, a rifle, a shotgun,
two cameras, and a plenteous supply of food. Each fellow was equipped
with a haversack, in which were his eating tools and other necessary
articles, such as bachelor buttons, cartridges, films, and other things.
They carried their frying-pans, small buckets, and tincups suspended
from their belts. The handles of their safety axes extended from
hip-pockets, making their pockets bulge suspiciously.

Mr. Allen took the lead through Stratton Park, and headed for the short
cut that joined the old Stage Road just as it sneaked around the base of
Cheyenne Mountain on its way to the top of the Continental Divide; then
downward through mountain passes and clinging close to canyon walls until
it reached that most wonderful of all gold camps, the Cripple Creek
District.

"It's just two o'clock," said Chuck, in answer to an inquiry as to the
time. "And we will have to do some rapid walking if we are to get on top
of Cheyenne Mountain to-night. We ought to make three miles an hour from
here to the old road house. We'll have to rest there a little and have a
drink from Daddy Wright's spring. That's the best spring in the Rocky
Mountains, I do believe."

"Hope Dad's home to-day," said Mr. Allen. "I haven't seen him since early
spring. I certainly do enjoy getting the old gentleman to telling some of
his stories. You know he is an old, old timer in these parts. He came
here years before gold was first discovered in Cripple Creek, and he has
lived up in his little gulch ever since. In the early days, when the only