“Wonder what’s next?” Bob was saying to himself.
The fact was, he had experienced so many strange things during the last three months, that he was beginning to believe the list must be almost inexhaustible.
No wonder, then, that Bob found himself wondering what he would run across next. It began to seem as if almost anything could happen in this strange country, so different from that surrounding his Kentucky home.
They kept on for another hour.
The fire had passed off far to the eastward. Possibly it would only be halted when it reached the bank of the river which lay in that direction.
By this time the horses were showing unmistakable signs of fatigue, such as none of the three riders could ignore.
“We must pull up soon, Frank,” Bob remarked, when he found how reluctantly his mount responded to his further appeals. “Poor Domino is about all in, and I’m not going to break him for all the gold thieves in Arizona.”
“That’s just what Mr. Riley and myself were saying, Bob,” replied the other, as he checked his own horse, and brought his lagging lope down into first a canter, and then a plain walk. “We happen to be close to the foothills right now, and by letting the horses rest up a bit we can reach them inside of half an hour or so.”
“But, Frank, what do we want to get to the hills for; you don’t expect a cloudburst out here on the open; and we could lie down here as well as most any place?” the Kentucky boy remarked.
“It’s just this way,” continued Frank, now alongside his chum, with all the horses walking; “we think those fellows must be somewhere in these hills. They were heading straight for them all the time. Perhaps now they’ve even got a shanty or a camp here. Perhaps there may be another bunch of the same kind waiting for ’em. Mr. Riley agrees with me that since we’ve come this far we ought to go on and find out. Understand, Bob?”