“You mean,” said the whimsical Jo, “down to you.”
“I suppose so.”
“He has made his escape anyway,” said Tom.
“So have our pack mules,” cried Juarez, looking back up the mountain.
“Maybe they have just grazed off,” said Jim anxiously.
This was serious business indeed, if their mules should take a notion to take the back trail with their grub and camp equipment. So the boys lost no time in getting back to the ridge and all thought of the stranger that they had tried to interview had left their minds for the present. When they got to the top of the ridge they found their worst fears realized. Juarez was the first to take in the situation, because his little roan was the fastest in a short dash. Juarez had urged his horse obliquely across the slope of the hill.
“They have scooted for home, boys,” he yelled.
Sure enough there were the three beasts a mile down the trail and jogging steadily along with an evident intention in their mulish minds to go home and stay there. Now “home” was a hundred miles away, but that made no difference with their plans.
“We have got to head ’em down this other side,” cried Jim. “It’s no use following them on the trail. They have got the start on us and when they see us coming it will make them hike all the faster.”
“You’re right,” said Juarez.