“It begins to look as though Larry Burnham was right,” he murmured. “Still, somehow, I don’t regret having taken this chance.”
He strolled up and down for a while; then followed the creek quite a distance as it wound its way among the hills.
“I have a pretty good idea how Robinson Crusoe must have felt in his solitude,” he grinned, as he turned and began to walk back toward the fire.
Finding inactivity trying to his patience, Bob Somers kept busy while the end of the day approached. Even then time seemed to pass with extraordinary slowness. He heartily welcomed dusk; and as the shadows of night stole over the hills and crept into the valleys, gradually wrapping the landscape in impenetrable gloom, he decided to seek repose.
“And I’ll hit the trail back on the very first signs of day,” he concluded.
Being a good sleeper, and nothing occurring to disturb him, morning found Bob Somers fresh, and eager to conquer the difficulties of travel which he knew lay between him and the ranch-house.
His breakfast was cooked and eaten in short order. When the pony, in response to the crack of his quirt, leaped ahead, Bob felt like giving a shout of exultation.
“Mighty certain, after this, the crowd will stick together,” he said, aloud. “By Jingo, I suppose the fellows must be pretty badly worried.”
He found the passage between the hills comparatively easy, so made rather rapid progress.
Always an alert and careful observer, he noticed, when the hills began to fall away, a beaten trail.