"That's what I went after," said Bobby.
* * * * *
Boland stiffened after his rest. He made two small marches toward the wagon, but his tortured muscles were so stiff and sore that he gave it up at last. After he saw and answered the signal fires he dropped off to sleep.
He was awakened by a jingling of spurs and a trampling of hoofs. He got
to his feet hurriedly. Four horsemen reined up beside him—not Pete
Johnson and his friends, but four strangers, who looked at him curiously.
Their horses were sadly travel-stained.
"Anything wrong, young man? We saw your fire?"
"No—not now." Boland's thoughts were confused and his head sang. He attributed these things to sleepiness; in fact, he was sickening to a fever.
"You look mighty peaked," said the spokesman. "Got water? Anything we can do for you?"
"Nothing the matter with me, except that I'm pretty well played out. And I've been anxious. There was a boy lost, or hurt—I don't know which. But it's all right now. They lit two fires. That was to be the signal if there was nothing seriously wrong. I let the boy's father take my horse—man by the name of Carr."
"And the others? That was Pete Johnson, wasn't it? He went after the boy?"
"Yes. And young Mitchell and Joe Benavides."