“Doggone the luck!” ejaculated Roy, red in the face, as he worked the lever of his rifle. “Never could shoot downhill, nohow!”
His rueful apology to the girls for missing brought a merry laugh from Bo.
“Not for worlds would I have had you kill that beautiful deer!” she exclaimed.
“We won't have venison steak off him, that's certain,” remarked Dale, dryly. “An' maybe none off any deer, if Roy does the shootin'.”
They resumed travel, sheering off to the right and keeping to the edge of the intersecting canuon. At length they rode down to the bottom, where a tiny brook babbled through willows, and they followed this for a mile or so down to where it flowed into the larger stream. A dim trail overgrown with grass showed at this point.
“Here's where we part,” said Dale. “You'll beat me into my camp, but I'll get there sometime after dark.”
“Hey, Milt, I forgot about thet darned pet cougar of yours an' the rest of your menagerie. Reckon they won't scare the girls? Especially old Tom?”
“You won't see Tom till I get home,” replied Dale.
“Ain't he corralled or tied up?”
“No. He has the run of the place.”