"What time shall we reach our destination, Charlie?" called the Professor.
"Mebby soon, mebby not so soon," was the indefinite reply of the Indian. Tad laughed.
"Is that perfectly clear?" he asked.
"About as clear as a watering hole on the plains after the cattle have drunk their fill," replied Rector. Professor Zepplin smiled grimly, but he did not seek for further information at that time.
Late in the afternoon Stacy's pony went lame, and a halt was made while Tad examined the little animal's foot. He found that a sharp sliver had been driven into the frog. Blood was streaming from the wound. With a pair of forceps the boy carefully extracted the splinter, then washed the wound out with an ointment that he carried with him.
"Will he be able to go on?" questioned Walter.
"Yes. He will be lame, but it isn't half so bad as if he had gone lame in the shoulder. We must slow down for half an hour or so, and I think you will find he will go along better after that."
It was as Tad had said. The pony began to show less lameness in exactly thirty minutes from the time the boy had removed the hardwood splinter. In an hour, though weary, the pony was walking as naturally as ever.
Just before dark another stop was made. All hands were tired by this time, the ponies more so than their riders. Saddles, packs and bridles were removed, giving the stock a chance to lie down and get all the rest that the halt would permit.
Tad suggested that they would gain time by stopping at least two hours, giving the horses a chance to get a little sleep. The others agreed to this with poor grace. They were in a hurry to be on, still, they realized that Tad was the best judge of horseflesh in the party.