“By George!” he exclaimed, in some excitement. “I do wonder if this can have any connection with the other? It seems very likely,” he argued. “If I hadn’t lost the trail among the hills it would probably have led me to this very place.”
His eyes followed the track, which, approaching from the distance, left the creek rather abruptly and cut across the wide undulating valley. He was in the grip of all his old feelings like a flash. An intense curiosity to know where the trail led, if nothing more, stole over him. The thought of possible discoveries kindled his imagination. A strong allurement tempted him once more to brave Dame Fortune.
“Why not?” he asked himself.
Indecision lasted but an instant. The day was young; the broad expanse seemed to beckon him on. He drew a long breath.
“Yes, I’ll do it!” he exclaimed, determinedly. “Get up, old chap!”
The horse broke into a gallop. No great amount of care was necessary to keep the trail in view, though in places it was either faint or entirely obliterated.
“I only hope things don’t turn out as they did before,” he exclaimed.
The opposite hills rose higher, ever cutting more sharply against the sky. His pony, in a spirited mood, needed no urging. He swung over a gently-swelling rise, then galloped swiftly down on the other side.
The trail was still before him. But instead of climbing the hill, as he had expected, it skirted along the base.
Bob Somers was about to ride on when he observed a lesser track leading around the slope in the opposite direction. He instantly halted.