“I should say!” And George staggered to his feet. “Did you sleep, too? Where are we, anyhow?” And he blinked about.
“I don’t know. But we’ll hit south as fast as we can. There’s the east. Once we’re out of these hills, then we can see something.”
Without wasting time George stumbled for his horse; they hung the picket ropes to the saddles, swung aboard, and were on their way again.
“Follow down this draw?”
“Yes. If it doesn’t lead right we’ll climb a hill and take a look.”
The morning brightened rapidly. The draw seemed to lead in the right direction. It opened into a rolling plain—hurrah! And now they saw, far before, a column of smoke suspended in the still air.
“Camp! There’s the grade!”
“How in thunder did we ever get away out here?”
“I dunno. We ought to have been at Cheyenne by this time.”
“Well, we’ll get there now,” asserted George. “But we’re hefty dispatch-bearers.”