Now they kept a lookout for Matty, who could not be far beyond. They discovered him bending down at a running stream where he had evidently been slaking his thirst, and perhaps bathing his tired feet, for his shoes were both off.
Again did Elmer give the "high sign," and the others took heed. The three riders jumped to the ground. That clear water looked mighty enticing; and, besides, here was the last fellow whom they might expect to overtake, save Felix and Lil Artha; and a wide gap was believed to exist between them.
"Come on in, fellows, the water's fine," laughed Matty, whose face looked as if he had dipped it partly in the creek, for the dust was washed in streaks; but his smile was just as genial as ever.
The trio soon slaked their thirst.
"Where are we at?" demanded the leader of the Beaver Patrol, who had made a pretty good bid for the prize, considering that he was not gifted with such long legs as the two fellows ahead.
"I think about twenty-nine miles out," Elmer returned.
"And with just two fellows ahead; but I've got a poor chance to overhaul 'em, though I don't give up yet awhile. That's all, ain't it, Elmer, Lil Artha and that muscular Dutchman, Felix Wagner?"
"That's all," nodded Elmer. "Glad to find you so filled with pluck, Matty; though it looks as if Lil Artha would have to carry the colors of Hickory Ridge troop to the scout master of Little Falls."
"How does the game stand; is Felix overhauling our chum?" asked the other, as he started to put on his shoes, making a wry face while doing so, as if his feet might be more or less sore.
"Not that we know of; for at last accounts Lil Artha had a lead of some three miles, and was going strong," Elmer replied.