Roy appeared to slide off the mustang without effort, and his swift hands slapped the straps as he unsaddled. Buckskin was wet with sweat and foam mixed with rain. He heaved. And steam rose from him. “Must have rode hard,” observed Dale. “I shore did,” replied Roy. Then he espied Helen, who had sat up, with hands to her hair, and eyes staring at him. “Mornin', miss. It's good news.” “Thank Heaven!” murmured Helen, and then she shook Bo. That young lady awoke, but was loath to give up slumber. “Bo! Bo! Wake up! Mr. Roy is back.” Whereupon Bo sat up, disheveled and sleepy-eyed. “Oh-h, but I ache!” she moaned. But her eyes took in the camp scene to the effect that she added, “Is breakfast ready?” “Almost. An' flapjacks this mornin',” replied Dale. Bo manifested active symptoms of health in the manner with which she laced her boots. Helen got their traveling-bag, and with this they repaired to a flat stone beside the spring, not, however, out of earshot of the men. “How long are you goin' to hang around camp before tellin' me?” inquired Dale. “Jest as I figgered, Milt,” replied Roy. “Thet rider who passed you was a messenger to Anson. He an' his gang got on our trail quick. About ten o'clock I seen them comin'. Then I lit out for the woods. I stayed off in the woods close enough to see where they come in. An' shore they lost your trail. Then they spread through the woods, workin' off to the south, thinkin', of course, thet you would circle round to Pine on the south side of Old Baldy. There ain't a hoss-tracker in Snake Anson's gang, thet's shore. Wal, I follered them for an hour till they'd rustled some miles off our trail. Then I went back to where you struck into the woods. An' I waited there all afternoon till dark, expectin' mebbe they'd back-trail. But they didn't. I rode on a ways an' camped in the woods till jest before daylight.” “So far so good,” declared Dale. “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.