All things considered, the
latter was the logical choice. And the plan Mac had put forth seemed as
feasible as any.
"We'll have to proceed on the faro-bank formula that all bets go as they
lay," I said lightly. "There's no use anticipating things disagreeable
or otherwise; we'll simply have to take them as they come."
By this time dusk was upon us. We picketed the horses in the open bottom
where grass was more plentiful than in the brush, and settled ourselves
to sleep. Fortunately, the aftermath of that blistering day was a fairly
warm night. By spreading over us the heavy woolen blankets the Mounted
Police use under their saddles, we slept in comfort. Long before dawn,
however, we arose, built a fire, and breakfasted on buffalo veal, at the
same time broiling a good supply and stowing it in our pockets to serve
the rest of the day. Then, with darkness still obscuring our movements,
we saddled and rode over the ridge and down into Lost River, crossing
that ancient waterway before the first glimmer of light in the east.
Day found us dismounted in the head of a coulee where we could spy on
the Police camp from a distance of three miles, more or less. About
sunrise the troop left camp in a body, later spreading fanwise over the
prairies. Once a party trotted by within a half-mile of us, but no one
of the four men we wanted to see was in the squad.
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