"For goodness' sake, don't let's even think of such a thing," said Tim, shrugging his shoulders. "Can't imagine where on earth the brute has gone."
"It means getting up mighty early to-morrow morning to look for him again."
"And maybe every morning for a solid month," added Tim, ominously; "an' by that time he'll have scattered the stuff about till the ground looks like the counter of a five an' ten cent store."
Disconsolately, they rode between the great tree trunks toward the light again. By following a route much further to the east the two found traveling easier, and pushed ahead at a fast clip. A sunset glow was rapidly fading; valley and plains became a cold, cheerless gray; undulating ridges cut sharply against the sky, and the gigantic crags towering above them began to assume an air of grim majesty.
A sprinkling of stars was faintly showing in the fast-deepening blue when Dick and Tim at length came in sight of a camp-fire surrounded by a group of shadowy figures.
As the two cantered up, a volley of questions was flung toward them.
"What! You couldn't find the packhorse!" cried Bob, in astonishment.
"Great Scott!" howled Jack Conroy. "This is about the limit."
"And all my fault, too," sighed Dave.
"Bet you're tryin' to spring some kind o' a silly joke on us, Tim," said Jack, suspiciously.