The rascals paid no attention. Then Bob fired, and so did Mark and Andrew West. In the meantime the others of the party were scrambling over the river as best they could.
The thieves did not take the time to fire back. None of them was hit, and soon a turn of the trail took them out of sight.
"Come on after them!" cried Si, as soon as he was across the stream. "Come on—we must catch them!"
"I don't see how we are going to follow on foot," sighed Maybe Dixon. "A man can't run against a hoss, nohow."
"He can if the trail isn't very good," insisted the former farm boy. "They may not know the way very well and get mixed up in the dark. I don't believe in standing still and doing nothing," he added, pleadingly.
"Neither do I," returned Bob. "Come, let's go ahead."
It was decided to follow the trail with all the speed possible. They covered a distance of several hundred feet when Maybe Dixon set up a shout:
"A hoss! A hoss!"
He was right, a horse was close by, in the timber, panting violently. He had a halter dangling from his head, showing that he had broken away in some manner.
"I thought they had an extra hoss with them when they rode off," said Andrew West. "This must be the animal."