"What's the matter?" asked Dot, puzzled by the action of her parents.
"S-h! We are afraid a bad Indian is there."
"Why, can't you see that's Jerry?"
Jerry was the name of the pack pony.
"Of course it is. Why didn't we think of it?" asked the father the next moment, relieved beyond measure by the discovery.
Jerry seemed to be of the opinion that it was the place of his friends to make the advances, for he did not stir until they rode up beside him.
The lazy fellow was found with his load intact. He had been given all the time he could ask for his journey to this point, and evidently was a little sulky over the treatment received at the hands, or rather the foot, of his master, for his head had to be jerked several times before he faced about, and then it required more vigorous treatment to force him into a lazy gallop.
Luckily, the greater part of the plain had been crossed before this reunion took place, and the party had not gone far when the rancher allowed the animals to drop to a walk. In front loomed a dark mass, which he recognized as the fringe of the wood observed from the bank of the stream behind them. Through this it was necessary to thread their way with extreme care, owing to the darkness and their unfamiliarity with the ground.
Upon reaching the edge of the wood the fugitives came to a stand-still.
Slipping from his saddle, the rancher brushed away the snow at his feet and pressed his ear against the ground.