They would not get out of this valley until the next day. The horses had not been driven hard, save when Poke ran away from the bear, but they had brought the boys a good many miles from Silver Run before sunset.
They made camp in a grove on the river’s bank. The sun had dropped behind the western range and night was coming fast. Chet was making the fire and skinning the grouse. Dig hobbled the horses nearby, where the grazing was good, and then went along the river bank to see if there was a spring, the water of which would be fresher and colder than the river water.
And in stumbling along through the bushes in the half-darkness Dig Fordham fell upon his next adventure. Chet suddenly heard a mighty thrashing and bellowing in the brush. Dig’s voice rose in excitement:
“Bring your rope, Chet! Bring your rope! I have a deer!”
His chum did not believe him, but he did as Dig said and ran with the lariat coiled and ready in his hand. Only a few yards away he came upon his chum on the back of some animal, struggling in the mud beside the river. Dig had his arms around the creature’s neck, and was hanging on for dear life.
“I have him! I have him!” cried Dig.
“Looks as though he had you,” laughed Chet.
The creature had evidently been lying in the mud and Dig had fallen over him. Chet slipped the noose over the head of the animal and then advised his chum to rise.
“You’re frightening the poor thing to death,” he said, for it was bawling as well as struggling. And its voice was unmistakable to Chet’s ear.
“Whew! I fell right over that deer,” gasped Dig, getting up as the creature danced around at the end of the rope, trying to get away from Chet.