Wade left the rim to ride down these slow-descending half-open ridges, where cedars grew and jack-pines stood in clumps, and little grassy-bordered brooks babbled between.

He saw tracks where a big buck deer had crossed ahead of him, and then he flushed a covey of grouse that scared the horses, and then he saw where a bear had pulled a rotten log to pieces.
Fox did not show any interest in these things.
By and by Wade descended to the junction of these hollows, where three tiny brooklets united to form a stream of pure, swift, clear water, perhaps a foot deep and several yards wide.
"I reckon this's the head of the Troublesome," said Wade.

"Whoever named this brook had no sense....

Yet here, at its source, it's gatherin' trouble for itself.

That's the way of youth." The grass grew thickly and luxuriantly and showed signs of recent grazing.