"Bet Jacky 'ud call me a silly idiot," he reflected, with a grin, "but, sure as shooting, somebody brought that bronc back, and I might discover a camp-fire—it isn't likely, though. Still—well, hang it all, there's no sense in backing out now."
He found a certain pleasure in wandering about alone in the poetic moonlight, and also a feeling of danger which kept him keenly alert.
When Dick reached the spot where the packhorse had been found he came to a halt and studied the ground carefully, but his effort was unrewarded. Then he circled slowly around the bushes, sometimes on his hands and knees, hoping to discover some evidence of a trail through the tall grass. Still there was nothing.
With a muttered exclamation of disappointment, the boy straightened up and walked toward a knoll almost covered with tall cedars. Standing in their long, bluish shadows, he looked over the immensity of valley and hill, solemn and mysterious in the silvery sheen of the moon, with a strange feeling of awe and pleasure.
Almost forgetting his mission, Dick stood absorbed in its contemplation, when he received a shock which made his knees tremble violently.
A human voice had spoken, and the words, though faint, had reached his ears.
"I tell ye I did hear somethin', Pete Colliver; thar's some critter prowlin' 'bout."
"Pete—Pete Colliver!" gasped Dick Travers; "and—goodness gracious—Jimmy of Sellade!"
A whirlwind of thoughts began coursing through his brain. Now the mystery of the packhorse's return was explained; all their suspicions regarding Pete Colliver were confirmed—and in this startling fashion. What were the lumber-boys doing out there in the wilderness? There could only be one answer to that—tracking them.
For a moment, the queer mixture of feelings in Dick Travers' head made him almost dizzy. Then the familiar sound of Pete Colliver's voice steadied his nerves.