“No use all three ride over an’ try find ’em place where we meet Sergeant Richardson. What you say I go alone? Sandy, you Dick stay here in shelter of bush. No take ’em me very long. If I find bend, I come back pretty quick an’ let you know.”
The young guide’s proposal did not meet with the instant approval that he had expected.
“No,” growled Sandy, “we can all go. What’s the use of staying here?”
“Look here, Toma,” interposed Dick, “three pairs of eyes are better than one.”
Toma scowled. He feigned an angry indifference. “All right. I do what you say. I think you ’fraid mebbe poor Toma get lost.”
Sandy reached up and snapped off the brittle twig from a branch just over his head. He regarded it reflectively.
“Pshaw! Let him have his own way, Dick. If he insists, I don’t mind in the least. I’m going to crawl off this old nag of mine and stretch my legs.”
As if the matter were already settled, Sandy scrambled off his mount and led it over to a thick clump of bushes, which offered better protection from the storm. After a moment’s hesitation, Dick followed his example. The two crouched there while Toma sprang to the ground, tied his horse to a young sapling and then struck off sharply to the right on foot. In a few seconds he became lost to view.
Dick and Sandy brushed away the snow from a small space in front of them and sat down, weary and disheartened. The ponies turned with their backs to the wind. Dick was so sleepy and tired from his long hours of wakefulness that he had scarcely sat down when his head began to nod, and soon after he drowsed off completely. How long he slept he did not know. He was awakened by the hand of his chum, clawing roughly, excitedly at his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look into the startled face of his friend.
“Did you hear it?” gasped Sandy.