Perhaps Buell had
sent the Mexican with Bud and Bill on my trail again. This would not do.
But I did not want to go back or turn off the trail.
"I'll slip up and see who it is," I decided.
The idea pleased me; however, I did not yield to it without further
consideration. I had a clear sense of responsibility. I knew that from now
on I should be called upon to reason out many perplexing things. I did not
want to make any mistakes. So I tied Hal and the pack-pony to a bush
fringing the trail, and set off through the forest.
It dawned upon me presently that the campfire was much farther away than it
appeared. Often it went out of sight behind trees. By degrees it grew
larger and larger. Then I slowed down and approached more cautiously. Once
when the trees obscured it I traveled some distance without getting a good
view of it. Passing down into a little hollow I lost it again. When I
climbed out I hauled up short with a sharp catch of my breath. There were
several figures moving around the campfire. I had stumbled on a camp that
surely was not Dick Leslie's.
The ground was as soft as velvet, and my footsteps gave forth no sound.
When the wind lulled I paused behind a tree and waited for another gusty
roar. I kept very close to the trail, for that was the only means by which
I could return to my horses.
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