"It looks good enough for me," replied the young Kentuckian.
"Plenty of forage for the horses," Frank went on, nodding his head as
he looked; "and do you see that little trickling stream of water that
crawls along? All we have to do is to hide the horses here. When we
want 'em, the chances are we'll find 'em safe."
"I hope so," remarked Bob, as he alighted.
In a short time they had removed saddles and bridles, hiding these
among the neighboring rocks, together with their supplies, and had
picketed the horses by means of the lariats.
"Now what?" asked Bob.
"You sit down here, and wait till I come back," Frank remarked.
"What are you going to do?" the Kentucky lad inquired; "something that
I might lend a hand at?"
"No, I reckon you're a little shy on knowing how to hide a trail, Bob.
Old Hank showed me, and I've practiced it often. This promises to be a
chance to see whether I learned my lesson half-way decent."
"Oh! all right, Frank. But some day I expect you to show me all about
that sort of thing. You know I want to be in the swim, and learn how
to do everything there is. I'll wait here by the water," and Bob
dropped down to rest.
"I won't be gone long," Frank observed. "Pretty much all the slope was
made up of stone; and what a great time the horses did have, trying to
hang on. Once I thought your nag was going to take a nasty plunge,
because he isn't as used to the work as a Western pony would be.
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