“What’s the use of dragging these slow coaches over the trail to the mountains and back again?” demanded Mr. Gilroy. “Why not do as Oliver did yesterday—find a place to hobble them and, later, send Tally to get them?”
“All right!” agreed Mr. Vernon. “Tally, we’ll ride on, and you hide the burros somewhere along the trail where they can graze till you come for them.”
“But do not unpack? We won’t be at the peaks more than three hours,” added Mrs. Vernon.
After breakfast the party rode on to the Forest Station, where they were cordially received. Not till they stopped to look around were the scouts aware of the altitude of Panchuelo. Now they stood in the Lookout gazing upon the peaks of surrounding mountains which stood out clearly in the morning light; they found that the far-down dots betokened villages and camps in the valleys. Silvery streams winding here or there showed where the Pecos and other rivers followed the course of least resistance.
Having visited and photographed everything of interest at the station the scouts bid good-by to the Foresters and rode away to the northeast point of the triangle trail, thence westerly to the Truchas point, where they were to meet the guide. He was not there.
“How could he be, when he has three burros to push and pull along the road?” said Julie.
Finally, waiting got to be irksome, and the Captain suggested that some one return to the Panchuelo point of the trail to see if anything had happened to the Indian or to the burros.
Then Tally himself came to explain.
“Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped. “I hunt and hunt an’ I axe ever’ one what pass, but nobody see dem!”
