“You ditched them up in that God-forsaken country—a bunch of greenhorns?”
“What could I do?” pleaded Henry. “I’m a gov’ment official, and—”
“Are they up in there yet?”
“I guess so. Ain’t seen hide ner hair of ’em since. Left th’ hosses at th’ lake, and we hoofed it with th’ asses. Then, side o’ Dewlap, we leaves th’ asses browsin’ off th’ bresh—”
“Yes, yes!”—irritably from Morley. “And you’re sure they’ve not come out?”
“How could they yet? I been hikin’ straight sence I left ’em, ’ceptin’ to ketch up Mrs. Lot.”
“Well, well, well, Henry! Tough luck about your gauge. Don’t let us keep you.”
“Tough luck, you bet!” Henry agreed. “Heh-heh-heh!”
He slithered to Lot’s Wife, who had wandered from the straight and narrow in search of dry bunchgrass, and shooed her into the trail again.
“What’ll we do now?” asked Leach. “Go up after ’em or wait here?”