As it turned out, it was only a short distance, as wilderness distances go, to the water the burros had been so anxious to reach; but, by the same token, the sun was now sinking pretty fast, and Dick saw that he would have to hurry if he wanted to get anywhere before the early forest dusk should overtake him. Accordingly, as soon as the burros had had their drink, he headed them up the stream, congratulating himself that the way out of the lost tangle had been found so easily.
Again that was that. But before he had gone very far in the new direction that old saying about not laughing until you are out of the wood began to suggest itself. He tried to tell himself that it was all right; that he had found the creek, and if he should follow it up far enough it was bound to take him back to the trail. Just the same, there was nothing at all familiar in the surroundings, and the creek itself looked different.
Still, there was nothing to do but to push on, and he was doing it industriously a full hour later when the daylight quit on him and he saw that it was no use trying to go much farther. Camping for the night seemed the only thing left for him to do, but when he thought of stopping he was a good bit worried. There were still no signs of the lost trail, and nothing in the least rememberable in what he could see of the landscape.
This was the condition of affairs when, rounding a sharp turn in the creek ravine, he saw a light up ahead. In the distance it looked as if it might be a fireplace fire shining out through the open door of a cabin. A fire and a cabin meant at least two mighty welcome things, just then: human companionship, and a chance to find out where he had wandered to.
Being Western born and bred, Dick thought he was pretty well prepared for anything that might jump up in the woods, however strange it might appear at first sight. But the man who came to the cabin door at his shouted: “Hello, the house!” presented a picture that was almost startling. Tall, stoop-shouldered, with a shock of hair as white as snow, and a great white beard that reached fully to his waist, Dick could think of nothing to compare him to except a picture in the “Arabian Nights”—the Old Man of the Sea. But the resemblance to that horrific personage vanished instantly when a voice, as gentle as a woman’s, said:
“Well, hello, stranger! ’Light and come in. Ye’re welcome as sunshine. I hain’t seed a livin’ human sence the good Lord knows when!”
Dick didn’t know what he was to alight from, being already on his feet, but he did know the customary Southern salutation which usually applies to a person on horseback.
“You’re not any gladder than I am,” he laughed. “I guess I’m lost good and plenty. Wait until I can take the packs off the burros, and——”
“Shore enough!” said the gentle old voice. “Didn’t see that ye had a couple o’ jacks. Reckon my old eyes ain’t so good as they used to be.” And he hobbled out and helped Dick to get the packs off.
Once in the cabin and seated before the open fire, Dick unburdened himself—partly. He told how he and his companions had come over the pass together and that Larry and Purdick had gone back after a book that had been overlooked when they broke camp in Lost Canyon. But he didn’t say anything about the race with the would-be hold-ups.