“You couldn’t be so heartless,” declared Dig. “I know you couldn’t. We have been in peril together—Stone Fence and I. We came pretty near being drowned, and then, there were the wolves. I feel toward him just like a brother—Get out, you beast! want to butt me over again?”
They got under way and Chet set as brisk a pace as possible. He did not want to leave his chum and the maverick behind; yet he was a little vexed at Dig for being so obstinate.
The morning was delightful, however; nobody could hold anger at such an hour. The boys whistled and sang and skylarked; the horses snorted and stepped “high, wide and handsome,” as Dig called it; and even Stone Fence trotted along the trail without much urging.
They had not to be on the watch for game this day, for they had enough of the deer meat left to last them until over breakfast the following morning. Yet Chet’s glance was ever roving over the plain as they went on. No trace of the venison thieves was to be found.
The hills were behind them; the mountains were so far in advance that a blue haze masked them. Nearby groves of small trees marked water-holes; but there was no stream in sight.
They fairly “wolfed” the venison steaks.
“Plain” did not mean in this case a perfectly flat surface. There were coulies to break the monotony of the level trail, or ancient watercourses to descend into and climb out of. Once they came to the edge of a steep sand-bluff, after having ridden up a gradual ascent to this eminence. From the spot they could see vastly farther than before.
It was from here that Chet spied something far to the north that interested him. He carried a pair of field-glasses in a case slung from one shoulder. He opened these and focused them on the round, black objects that had attracted his attention.
With the naked eye they looked like beehives, and they did not seem to move. But through the glass they were not conical, and they were travelling toward the northeast. They all moved together, but slowly; there could be no doubt of that.