"Your cheek is cut, Dave!" cried Roger. "How did that happen?"
"Oh, it's only a scratch—made by a flying stone," was the answer. "It doesn't amount to anything."
"I didn't dream that this trail would be so dangerous," went on the senator's son. "If I had known it, I wouldn't have asked you fellows to come along."
"Oh, it's not so bad," returned Phil, hastily. "That horse was awkward—he's the worst of the bunch."
"That's right, an' they had no right to hire me such a hoss," put in Tom Dillon. "When we git back I'll give that feller who did it a piece o' my mind. I tole him I wanted critters used to the mountain trails. The hosses we are ridin' are all right, but this one, he's a sure tenderfoot. He ought to be in the city, behind a truck."
Soon the narrow portion of the rocky trail was left behind and then all of the boys breathed easier.
"That trail back thar is bad enough," was Tom Dillon's comment. "But ye ought to see it in the winter time, with ice an' snow on it! Then it's some travelin', believe me!"
"None for mine!" answered Phil. "I want to see the ground when I travel in a spot like that."
As soon as the trail became better they went forward at the best possible speed, for they wished, if they could, to catch up with Abe Blower and those with him.
"You don't suppose Blower would turn off of this trail?" questioned Roger, of the old miner, as they rode along.