There was nothing to disturb Larry Burnham’s peace of mind. He just had to keep riding straight ahead until the settlement was reached; then a train would speedily carry him back to the States and civilization.
“But for this miserable Jed Warren business I’d probably have stuck it out,” he soliloquized. “But such a long wild goose chase!”
What to do with his horse had at first bothered the boy; but he finally concluded to have the animal shipped to his father’s Wisconsin farm.
“All serene,” he laughed. “Even if the bunch are angry I’ll fix it up with them when they get back to Kingswood.”
Some hours later Larry’s troubles began. They loomed up in the shape of hills. He surveyed with dismay the barrier which nature had set against him. Accustomed to put responsibilities upon others wherever possible, he was at a disadvantage when compelled to depend entirely upon himself.
The long detours, the difficulties which beset him on all sides, were eating up precious time. Often he became confused, lost his bearings, and, in his impatience plunged blindly ahead, many times forced by steep declivities or obstructions to retrace his way.
A troubled look came into his eyes. It was exasperating to be so balked—to have his well-laid plans threatened with failure. The thought of Tom Clifton’s laughter, and the sarcastic remarks he would be certain to make caused Larry’s lips to tighten.
“Get up, get up!” he growled. “We’ll reach that railroad or leave our bones on the plain. Ha, ha, ha—that’s a good one! This situation is makin’ me feel dramatic.”
Before he at last managed to reach the river the rider had passed a most unpleasant period. His face was scratched and bruised; while the jolting and tossing about in the saddle added considerably to the soreness of his bones and muscles.
The lad, however, managed to stand all these things with some degree of patience until he found himself facing a stretch of water far wider than he had ever expected.