By the time they had left the house the eastern sky had begun to pale, and day was at hand. It promised to be a perfect one. The sky was cloudless and no fog obscured the view. In the east, above the jagged and broken summits of the Pitt River Mountains, the stars were disappearing. The sky was beginning to grow gray and then to flush and glow, each instant becoming brighter. They walked at a brisk pace, at first climbing the hill and then passing along the level lands of the plateau. The three white men walked side by side in advance, and behind them came the Indian, leading three splendid hounds, which from time to time tugged at their chains or whimpered as some scent from the forest met their nostrils. The air was cool, fresh, and exhilarating. A gentle breeze just moved the branches of the great trees, which were far larger than any Hugh or Jack had ever seen.
From the recesses of the tangled forests came the sweet balsamic odors of firs and cedars, mingled with the faint damp smell of decaying vegetation, so characteristic of the forest in all climates. To Jack and Hugh all the trees and all the plants were new. They wondered at the vast size and height of the tree trunks, admired the maples with their large leaves, the thick tangle of underbrush, and beneath all the great ferns, higher than a man's head. They were passing between high walls of foliage, extending far above them on either side. Above was a narrow strip of blue sky and before them the yellow road. Multitudes of bright bits of color appeared along the roadside. The fireweed, familiar everywhere in the mountains, shone like a tongue of flame against a background of green. Here and there, in wet springy places, the foxglove nodded its tall spikes of red or white blooms; and besides this there were many other flowers, all beautiful, but not known by name to the travellers. One beautiful white low-growing flower attracted Jack's attention, and he dropped on his knees to examine it, declaring that it must be some sort of dogwood, so closely did it resemble--except in size--the ordinary white flowering dogwood of the Eastern States. There were also berries of many colors, and in great abundance. Many of these Mr. James named for them as they passed along; salmon berries, red or yellow, blackberries, green and red, and blueberries of several kinds; the purple salal, the velvet berry, the scarlet and as yet unripe panicles of the elder, and the brilliant fruit of the umbrella plant were all there, and were constantly inviting them to stop and admire their beauties.