A few minutes later he made a discovery which added still more to his cheerful frame of mind. A tiny creek wound its way through the middle of the valley.
“Hooray! All the comforts of a Mexican hotel without the expense!” he chuckled. “I don’t mind, old boy, if we do have to spend a night all by our lonesome!”
Beneath the thick, spreading foliage of the cottonwoods he found relief from the steady drizzle.
After unsaddling the mustang and allowing the tired beast to rest for a short time, he conducted him to the creek where he was watered a little at a time until his thirst was quenched.
After returning to the cottonwoods, the Rambler got out his case of medical supplies, many of which were labeled “good for either man or beast,” and felt confident that with a little doctoring to assist the course of nature the pony’s wound would soon be healed.
This job of bathing and bandaging the sore spot, owing to the beast’s decided objections, took so long that by the time he finished the rain had ceased and the storm clouds were far away.
The active Tom still found plenty to do. He cleaned his garments, spread the heavy water-soaked saddle blanket over a limb to dry, cleared a generous-sized space for his camp, then set about gathering wood.
A short time later a fire crackled in a hollow and his meal was under way. The situation appealed to the romantic side of Tom’s nature; it also gave him a pleasant sense of manliness to reflect upon the ease with which he could look out for himself. He thought of Don Stratton. Don he felt sure would be filled with misgivings if placed in similar circumstances.
“Still,” remarked Tom loftily to himself, “he hasn’t had enough experience yet; confound these mosquitoes; it isn’t easy to find one’s way over such a whopping big country. A little miscalculation,” he smiled grimly, “and if a chap wasn’t well supplied with both food and water, he might have some pretty rough sledding.”
The lad gazed at the curling tongues of ruddy flames growing brighter; at the jumping sparks and the columns of smoke rising in whirling clouds against the dark rich foliage of the cottonwoods. It seemed very lonely. How nice it would be, he thought, if only all the crowd were there. He began to miss sadly the sound of their voices—the cheerful rattle of conversation.