“You won’t have grace to say to-day—there will be no dinner; that’s always the worst of being lost.”
Archie looked around him. There was not a blazed tree to be seen, and he never remembered having been in the country before in which they now rode.
“We cannot be far out,” he said, “and I believe we are riding straight for the creek.”
“So do I, and that is one reason why we are both sure to be wrong. It’s great fun, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. We’re in an ugly fix. I really thought I was a better Bushman than I am.”
Poor Archie! His pride had received quite a series of ugly falls since morning, but this was the worst come last. He felt a very crestfallen cavalier indeed.
It did not tend to raise his spirits a bit to be told that if Gentleman Craig were here, he would find the blazed-tree line in a very short time.
But things took a more cheerful aspect when out from a clump of trees rode a rough-looking stockman, mounted on a sackful of bones in the shape of an aged white horse.
He stopped right in front of them.
“Hillo, younkers! Whither away? Can’t be sundowners, sure-ly!”