Daylight was upon them long before they were ready to start for the village of Matungamook. Ned Rector declared that, if Chunky's offense was as ugly as the name of the town, nothing short of hanging would be bad enough for him.
"I think we are ready now," said Tad finally, walking slowly about the camp to make sure that nothing had been left. He had laid aside a small supply of food for their use while on the way out, deciding that they could get all they wanted to eat when they got to the town.
At last they were in their saddles. Charlie had mounted Stacy's pony. The little animal appeared to be weak in the knees. Tad, good horseman that he was, felt sure the pony never would be able to make the journey without giving out before they had reached their destination.
"Charlie, you get on my horse. I will take a run. That pony can't carry you."
"No, me run," answered the Indian, grasping the bridle rein and starting off.
"Come back here! I was going to foot it," Tad called after him.
"Me run. Me said me run," flung back the guide, increasing his swift stride to a long lope.
"Hold on, hold on," cried the Professor. "You will have us lost in five minutes at this rate. You keep in sight of us all the time. Remember, we do not know our way to the town."
Charlie John slowed down with evident reluctance. The party now settled down to a slow but steady trot. The guide was choosing the easiest trail possible, knowing that better time would be made that way than by a shorter cut over rougher ground. Had he been alone he could have reached his destination in much better time by taking a course as the crow flies, regardless of the roughness of the trail.
The party did not halt until shortly after midday, when they stopped to give the stock rest and water and to take a bite on their own account.