“You saw what we did just as soon as we hit here, and got an idea there was water around—made a bee line for the same as fast as we could hike!” Frank continued.
“And you believe they would do the same; is that it?” Bob demanded.
“If anybody put up a shack, or even a camp here, in these hills, he’d be foolish not to make constant use of this little creek. And as we are about at the place where it spreads out on the plain, it stands to reason we must look above for any sign of our game. How about it now, Bob?”
“I’m on, all right. It’s as plain as the nose on my face, once you explain the business. And Frank, you’ll never have to tell me that thing again. Once is enough for me. Do we start right away?”
“Might as well,” replied his chum. “We only expect to go so far; and if nothing shows up, it’s back here for us, and a good sleep till morning.”
“And then?” Bob continued.
“Oh! we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” laughed Frank, meaning of course, by this, that he and Mr. Riley had not as yet discussed what another day might bring forth.
They took note of the lay of the land, so that when they wished to return to where the horses had been left they could easily find the place.
“Of course all we have to do is to drop down the hill alongside the stream; but we would want to know when we had arrived,” said Frank, as he fastened a spare white handkerchief he happened to have with him, to a stick, which later he thrust into the ground. “I’ve often been joshed because I carried that along with me when a red bandana is the only kind for a cowboy to have; but it’s served a use more than once, and will again,” he added.
“Do you think miners have camps in among these hills?” asked Bob, always seeking information.