“What did you do?” Dick asked kindly.
“Yesterday I turn ponies out to eat grass.”
“Hang the luck!” exploded Sandy. “That means we’ll have to walk. We might have to look around all night before we find ’em.”
“I very sorry,” began Toma. “I—”
Sandy cut him short.
“Forget it! I don’t blame you, Toma. It’s just a bit of bad luck, that’s all.”
“An’ you don’t feel mad at Toma?” inquired that young man plaintively.
“Certainly not,” Dick assured him. “Either Sandy or I might have made the same mistake. It’s all right. We’ll walk.”
Without even returning to the cabin to determine the extent of Creel’s injuries, they shook hands with the young Indian and quickly departed. Their hurried trek back to Fort Good Faith long remained in the boys’ memory. Dick struck out with Sandy at his heels, and hour after hour they pushed on without even a pause for rest.
Both were swaying on their feet from weariness as they entered the broad meadow, surrounding the fort, and came finally to the well known trading post.