"That's because this is Yosemite, and all the more reason for us to
hurry. Come on! Be lively, now!"

Well used as they were to trail life, but few minutes sufficed to see
the camp equipage on the backs of the packhorses and the boys in the
saddle. In the late twilight of that evening they hobbled their animals
in a tiny mountain meadow, and cooked coffee and bacon for themselves at
the very base of the Saddle. Here, also, before they turned into their
blankets, they found the camp of the unlucky stranger who was destined
to spend the night on the naked roof of the Dome.

Dawn was brightening into day when the panting lads threw themselves
down at the summit of the Saddle and began taking off their shoes.
Looking down from the great height, they seemed perched upon the
ridgepole of the world, and even the snow-crowned Sierra peaks seemed
beneath them. Directly below, on the one hand, lay Little Yosemite
Valley, half a mile deep; on the other hand, Big Yosemite, a mile.
Already the sun's rays were striking about the adventurers, but the
darkness of night still shrouded the two great gulfs into which they
peered. And above them, bathed in the full day, rose only the majestic
curve of the Dome.

"What's that for?" Gus asked, pointing to a leather-shielded flask which
Hazard was securely fastening in his shirt pocket.

"Dutch courage, of course," was the reply. "We'll need all our nerve in
this undertaking, and a little bit more, and," he tapped the flask
significantly, "here's the little bit more."

"Good idea," Gus commented.