“He’s trying to do you a good turn, Chip,” suggested Clancy.
“Sure he is—I give him credit for that—but the crazy old lobster can’t do me any good, or himself, either. He ought to stay in the house for another week yet.”
“Bosh!” returned Clancy. “Curly is all rawhide and India rubber. A broken wing hadn’t ought to bother him much more than a mild case of the mumps. You’ll notice we haven’t run across him lying along the road.”
“He’ll stick it out, you can bank on that,” said Ballard. “He’s probably in Camp Hawtrey this minute. That bunch would be pretty yellow if they didn’t treat him right.”
Clancy had a sudden thought.
“Say, Chip,” said he, “we’re taking this hike to help Curly, but I don’t think we’ll do him much good if we plunge full tilt into the camp. They’re a suspicious lot, and they might think it a frame-up of Curly’s. Suppose we reconnoiter a little before we show ourselves?”
“How’ll we reconnoiter, Clan?” asked Merry.
“The top of the gulch wall, about where we were yesterday, is a good place for that.”
“I guess you’ve got the right end of the stick, Clan. If we’re to climb the bank we’d better begin right here. Strikes me this is as good a place as we’ll find, and it’s far enough this side of the camp so we can make the climb without being seen.”
The slope was not steep, but it was easier for the boys to walk up the incline and lead their horses. In perhaps ten minutes they had reached the crest, and were able to take a comprehensive survey of the gulch below.