Minute after minute passed
before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could
believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone
again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening
stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail.
It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared
upon the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard
ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that
vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing
the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in
their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust,
"I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down the river clean to
hell just to have the laugh on us." Red had long since given it up as
a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant
Hopalong sent him forward on a run.
"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't
that a house?"
"Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What
did you think it might be?"
"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission."
"Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?" Red snapped.
"What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?" hotly rejoined
Hopalong, thinking about Johnny.
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