For two hours they rode steadily. The two boys scarcely exchanged a word and the horses began to show weariness. Then they came up a dead gully into the edge of the very piece of timber for which they had been aiming. There was no water in sight, and both horses and riders were beginning to suffer for it. The timber seemed more extensive than had appeared from the round back of the mound across the plain. Nor, as far as the boys could see, were there any signs of the herd of buffaloes. It really seemed as though their chase had been fruitless—and the sun was fast going down. “Whew!” said Dig, whimsically. “We’re a long way from home, Chet. What shall we do next?” CHAPTER XX—A MIDNIGHT ALARM As Chet surmised, the timber was open, with a good sod and little rubbish or shrubbery. None of the bushes was big enough to hide the buffaloes even at a distance. Not an object moved under the trees as the boys pressed on their tired mounts. If the herd of buffaloes had come this way it had not stopped to graze in the shelter of the timber. And that fact puzzled Chet Havens and caused much disappointment to his chum, Dig Fordham. “It gets me!” grumbled the latter. “You figured the thing out all right, Chet. We sneaked around and came up behind them all according to programme. But plague it all; somebody’s removed the buffaloes. They _ought_ to have stopped here.” “Maybe they kept on to water,” said Chet ruminatively. “Whew! That wouldn’t be a bad idea for us! Where do you suppose water is? The last drop dribbled out of my canteen two hours ago.” “Water’s right under our feet, I suppose. See how thrifty these trees are. But we can’t stop to dig for it,” said Chet. “We’d better let the horses find it.” “And give up hunting the buffaloes?” “For to-night. We don’t know how far away our camping place is—and night is coming fast. The horses have travelled hard.” “Right!” agreed Dig. “But I hate to give over the hunt.” “We’ll see what the morning brings forth,” Chet said cheerfully. “Let’s give the nags a free rein. Get on, Hero!” The bay and the black horse were both thirsty. The boys could see no stream; but their mounts unerringly knew the direction of the nearest water. Both horses were range born and had run wild as colts. The instinct of their ancestors, the pure-blooded mustangs, was strong in them. They struck almost directly northward through the timber and came out into the darkening plain on the other side. Night was coming fast and the boys naturally grew anxious. They were not exactly lost. Chet had his compass, and, moreover, they could tell the general direction easily enough by the setting sun. But the Grub Stake trail was a long way behind them and all this country to the west, north, and east was entirely strange to the trail boys. “Those buffaloes have plenty of country to hide in,” complained Dig, as the horses plodded on. “No wonder we didn’t find them. Whew! this is a big state, Chet.”