“Shore. There's rough country south of Baldy an' along the two or three trails Anson an' his outfit will camp, you bet.”
“It ain't to be thought of,” muttered Dale, at some idea that had struck him.
“What ain't?”
“Goin' round the north side of Baldy.”
“It shore ain't,” rejoined Roy, bluntly.
“Then I've got to hide tracks certain—rustle to my camp an' stay there till you say it's safe to risk takin' the girls to Pine.”
“Milt, you're talkin' the wisdom of the prophets.”
“I ain't so sure we can hide tracks altogether. If Anson had any eyes for the woods he'd not have lost me so soon.
“No. But, you see, he's figgerin' to cross your trail.”
“If I could get fifteen or twenty mile farther on an' hide tracks certain, I'd feel safe from pursuit, anyway,” said the hunter, reflectively.