“No,” Papa said. “This is Waterfall. Black Fox is the next one over. Why?”
“Well,” Grandpa said, “there’s supposed to be a white flag in the mouth of Black Fox.
That’s where we leave the road. The camp is in the river bottoms.”
By this time I was so excited, I stood up in the buggy box so I could get a better view.
“Maybe you ought to step them up a little, Grandpa,” I said.
“It’s getting pretty late.” Papa joined in with his loud laughter.
“You just take it easy,” he said. “We’ll get there in plenty of time. Besides, these mares can’t fly.”
I saw the flag first. “There it is, Grandpa,” I shouted.
“Where?” he asked. “Over there. See, tied on that grapevine.”
As we left the main road, I heard Papa say, “Boy, look at all those tracks. Sure has been a lot of traveling on this road.”
“That smoke over there must be coming from the camps,” Grandpa said.
When we came in sight of the camp, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
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