'It's going our way,' said Wharton, 'pretty straight. I wonder, now, if those superstitious Johnnies one meets sometimes would call that a lucky or an unlucky omen?' 'A deuced unlucky one,' said Snap, 'if it makes us stand here talking and star-gazing any longer. We've got fifty miles between us and our night camp. Let's skip!' It was a formidable little party which left the ranche that day. Of course, Snap and Wharton and the two Winthrops were armed for a winter campaign. Each carried a Winchester repeating-rifle, and old Wharton would not part with his six-shooter. The boys, not having been brought up to the use of six-shooters, wisely contented themselves with their rifles. Their two companions were also armed with rifles, intending to do a little hunting to supply the ranche with fresh meat on the way home. For the first few miles the pack-animals were hurried along briskly, partly because everyone's spirits were too high to brook of a slower pace, and partly in order to give those cunning beasts no chance of returning to the home-ranche. In spite, however, of all precautions, and the careful arrangement of a diamond hitch by Texan, one of the ponies managed to get rid of his pack in the first mile. On starting, this animal, a sorrel, had appeared as fat as a brewer's horse, and, in spite of Texan's slaps and kicks, in spite of his knee planted firmly against its barrel, whilst both his strong hands tugged at the lash-rope, the sorrel's waist refused to contract an inch. Once he was fairly on his way, his corpulence vanished as if by magic. With both heels in the air, he shot through his drivers, plunged amongst some timber, dived under a fallen tree which lay across the path about three feet from the ground, left part of his load here--frying-pans without their handles, and kettles with their sides squeezed in--and then with a roll, a squeal, and a final kick left pack and pack-saddle on the track, and departed homewards. 'Guess it ain't much good following that beast,' said Wharton. 'If you don't mind, Snap, your old Cradle is about the only horse in this outfit that will carry a pack, and if you'll let us pack the load on him you can ride my pony. I'll tramp it.' 'Not a bit of it, Wharton,' replied Snap, 'I'm the youngest. I'll walk.' 'Well, we'll walk and ride in turns,' said the old man. 'I don't know that there is much more fun in riding a walking horse in this timber than in tramping it yourself.' This being arranged, the Cradle took up the load, Snap congratulating himself that by this arrangement his old favourite would go with him all the way to winter quarters. Upon the second evening the party camped early. You soon tire of beans and bacon, especially when you can see signs of deer on all sides, and the river looks alive with fish.