“We are wasting time,” said Dawson; “while you two go up the gorge, I will take the other direction; look sharp for the animals that are probably lying down; they are cunning and will not relish being disturbed; if you find them whistle, and I’ll do the same.”
They separated, the captain following one course and his friends the other.
“It’ll be a bad go,” remarked Ruggles, “if we don’t find the horses, for we won’t have any show against them on their animals.”
“Little indeed and yet it will not hold us back.”
“No, indeed!” replied Ruggles with a concentration of passion that made the words seem to hiss between his teeth.
Since the stream was so insignificant, Wade Ruggles leaped across and went up the cañon on the other side, his course being parallel with his friend’s. A hundred yards further and he made a discovery.
“Helloa, Brush, here they are!”
The parson bounded over the brook and hurried to his side, but a disappointment followed. The three mules having cropped their fill had lain down for the night but the horses were not in sight.