Reuben, with a grin, "I think we'd make out first-rate."
"An excellent plan," agreed the captain. "Take Peter, by all means. He wants to do his part, and when it's his turn to ride he'll be easy on the horse. He's a regular woodsman, too. Look to your laurels, Reuben."
"Yes, sir," grinned Reuben.
So they set off; Reuben, with his rifle, at first on the horse; Peter, with his bow and quiver, trotting alongside, holding to the saddle thongs. After a time, they changed off; Peter rode and Reuben walked.
They had left about three o'clock. It was dusk when they arrived at the noon camp spot, on the other side of the high ridge. Not even a bird had they seen, to kill for food. They had started in such a hurry that they had brought nothing. But the horse's head was still lying here, untouched.
"We'll have to make shift with the head, Peter," quoth Reuben.
So they built a fire, and roasted the horse's head, and ate it even to the ears. Then they rolled in Reuben's blanket and slept together.
"We'll find that hoss or bust," declared Reuben, as in the morning early, having finished the horse-head scraps, they again took the back trail. Soon they arrived at the place where the horse carcass had been packed—and sure enough, in the brush at one side were the tracks of a horse that had wandered.
