"Haven't seen her yet."
"Well, you'd better push on a little faster. She may leave the trail at the summit."
Then one of us, endowed by heaven with a keen intuitive instinct for tenderfeet,—no one could have a knowledge of them, they are too unexpected,—had an inspiration.
"I suppose there are tracks on the trail ahead of you?" he called.
We stared at each other, then at the trail. Only one horse had preceded us,—that of the tenderfoot. But of course Algernon was nevertheless due for his chuckle-headed reply.
"I haven't looked," said he.
That raised the storm conventional to such an occasion.
"What in the name of seventeen little dicky-birds did you think you were up to!" we howled. "Were you going to ride ahead until dark in the childlike faith that that mare might show up somewhere? Here's a nice state of affairs. The trail is all tracked up now with our horses, and heaven knows whether she's left tracks where she turned off. It may be rocky there."
We tied the animals savagely, and started back on foot. It would be criminal to ask our saddle-horses to repeat that climb. Algernon we ordered to stay with them.
"And don't stir from them no matter what happens, or you'll get lost," we commanded out of the wisdom of long experience.