At last they reached the hills. Dismounting, they hobbled their
ponies, removed the saddles and bridles sticky with lather, and
then broke out some lunch which they ate ravenously, despite the
fact that their mouths were almost parched.
Greatly refreshed by the food, the boys decided to follow the trail
of the cattle till they could get some idea of its direction.
"Let's go on foot," suggested Tom. "The ponies will be all right,
the rest will do them good, and we can get through the brush and
over the rocks with less noise."
Readily his companions agreed, and picking up their rifles, they
quickly found the tracks made by the cattle.
For some distance the trail seemed more like an abandoned wood road
than anything else. But gradually it began to grow narrower and at
last became no more than a path winding in and out among the rocks.
Several times some sound caused the boys to raise their guns to
their shoulders and peer about in all directions, but nothing could
they see save the trees and rocks, and they ascribed the noises to
some denizen of the forest roaming about.
Of a sudden Tom, who was in the lead, stopped.
"I smell something awful queer," he whispered.
The trail wound along the edge of a sharp descent and just ahead
was an abrupt turn.
Ere either Larry or Horace could reply to their companion's
announcement all three were dumb-founded to see a big, shaggy brown
head appear round the turn in the trail.
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