And that fact puzzled Chet Havens and caused much disappointment to his chum, Dig Fordham.
“It gets me!” grumbled the latter. “You figured the thing out all right, Chet. We sneaked around and came up behind them all according to programme. But plague it all; somebody’s removed the buffaloes. They ought to have stopped here.”
“Maybe they kept on to water,” said Chet ruminatively.
“Whew! That wouldn’t be a bad idea for us! Where do you suppose water is? The last drop dribbled out of my canteen two hours ago.”
“Water’s right under our feet, I suppose. See how thrifty these trees are. But we can’t stop to dig for it,” said Chet. “We’d better let the horses find it.”
“And give up hunting the buffaloes?”
“For to-night. We don’t know how far away our camping place is—and night is coming fast. The horses have travelled hard.”
“Right!” agreed Dig. “But I hate to give over the hunt.”
“We’ll see what the morning brings forth,” Chet said cheerfully. “Let’s give the nags a free rein. Get on, Hero!”
The bay and the black horse were both thirsty. The boys could see no stream; but their mounts unerringly knew the direction of the nearest water. Both horses were range born and had run wild as colts. The instinct of their ancestors, the pure-blooded mustangs, was strong in them.