“We have the beasts insured, Sandy, and I’m not worried about them, but we had dandy camping outfits as you know, and we need them for our entire season,” complained Mr. Vernon.
“Leave it to me, Mr. Vernon, and you’ll get them all back in no time,” promised Sanderson, “but that means I shall have to leave you here with Burt while I run back to Santa Fé to pick up a coupla guides who can find anything in New Mexico.”
Sanderson, merely leaving word for Burt, rode away on his wonderful horse to Santa Fé, to find the Indians, of whom he had spoken. He said he would be back at the lodge that night in order to start his men on the hunt at dawn in the morning.
As long as the scouts had visited the Pecos Region and now were down where the trail ran north to the Nambe Indian Pueblos, and thence on to Truchas and northwest to Taos, it was agreed that they would ride with Sanderson and Burt when they started up that trail.
For various reasons the scouts refused to retire that night. One was, Sanderson had not yet returned; another was that they fully expected to have Tally and Mr. Gilroy come in at any moment, and they wished to be on hand to hear all the news if either party arrived.
“Evidently, Sandy has not had so simple a job in finding his Indians, as he had expected,” remarked Mr. Burt, glancing at his watch. It was just eleven.
By eleven-thirty Betty was dozing, and the other girls were doing their best to stifle sleepy yawns. At a quarter to twelve they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs in the court-yard outside, and they all ran to the door to see who it might be.
“Behold the conquering heroes come!” sang Mr. Gilroy, rolling from his horse and limping up to the scouts.
“Oh, Gilly!” exclaimed the girls, trying to peer through the darkness to see who was with Mr. Gilroy.
“Ish me, an’ we got burros all fine!” laughed Tally, finding the scouts could not see him through the darkness of the night.