It was still drizzling. Jack walked about a little to find some place to sit down and presently stumbled over an elevation which his hand told him was an ant-hill--one of those heaps of coarse sand a foot and a half or two feet high, which the ants throw up in high country. On this Jack sat down, for the ants would not be stirring until the hill had dried off, and he knew that it would not dry until the sun came up. Oddly enough he did not feel stiff or sore, and he concluded he must have landed on some big clump of brush which had broken his fall. He sat there a few minutes, meditating on what had happened, when presently very faintly he heard the hoof-beats of a slowly jogging horse, which was drawing nearer and nearer. "I wonder," thought Jack, "if that's my horse going back to camp? It would be great if I could catch him and ride in. The cattle are gone, and they can't be found until day." The hoof-beats drew nearer and nearer, and presently seemed to be passing Jack, not very far off. He hurried toward the sound, calling out as he did so: "Whoa, lad! Whoa, lad!" "Hello, who's that?" came Donald's voice. "Come over here, Donald," called Jack. "My horse fell with me and has gone off, and I'm waiting here for daylight to come to get back to camp. Where have you been?" "Why," explained Donald, "I tried to follow those cattle, but they all ran away from me; and now I'm trying to get to camp, but my horse don't want to--he seems to want to follow the cattle." "Well, I've had more excitement here in the last half-hour than any man is entitled to. When my horse fell I thought that whole bunch of cattle was going to run over me, and I've been jumping around here as hard as I could, trying to keep them off." "I hope you didn't get hurt when your horse fell with you?" "No," said Jack, "I must have hit a soft spot. I'm all right, but I'd like to get back to camp, so as to start out with the boys when it gets light, and try to find the cattle." "I want to find camp, too," replied Donald; "but I don't know whether I can. My horse doesn't seem to want to go that way." "Do you know in which direction camp is?" "Yes; it's off that way," Donald answered, pointing. "I'm all turned around," admitted Jack, "and I don't know where the camp is; but I'll tell you what I'd do if I wanted to go to camp--I'd put my reins down on my horse's neck and let him go in the direction he wants to go. The chances are that he knows where camp is a great deal better than any of the rest of us." "That may be true," replied Donald; "but suppose, on the other hand, he takes me off four or five miles farther away; what then?"