Ten miles farther on, the equipment truck halted to take aboard a guide named Barret, and his boy; and their professionally reliable old Irish setter.
This setter had a quality, not over-common with members of his grand breed; a trait which linked his career pathetically with that of a livery-plug.

He would hunt for anybody.

He went through his day's work, in stubble or undergrowth, with the sad conscientiousness of an elderly bookkeeper.
Away from the main road, and up a steadily rising byway that merged into an axle-snapping mountain-track, toiled the cars; at last coming to a wheezy and radiator-boiling halt at the foot of a rock-summit so steep that no vehicle could breast it.

In a cup, at the summit of this mountain-top hillock, was the camp-site; its farther edge only a few yards above a little bass-populated spring-lake.
The luggage was hauled, gruntily, up the steep; and camp was pitched.
Then car and truck departed for civilization.

And the two weeks of wilderness life set in.
It was a wonderful time for old Lad.