finding him unless he’s captured and his captors’ smoke tells where he is,” pondered Stanley.
Bub nodded an affirmation and slouching his hat over his tired eyes staggered forward. As the black growth was interrupted by a patch of budding red maples he turned and frankly confessed, “I’m ashamed to say it; but I’m that tuckered I wish you’d do the climbing. All you have to do is to shin up to the branches, then get up as far as they’ll hold you and sweep the horizon, first for a smoke, then for mountains. We’ve heard no guns and I hardly think Abner has been caught.”
“He had no food and if Big Nick got on his trail he would have no chance to eat or drink,” reminded Stanley. “I fear he’s too old to last out against Nick. Anyway, I’ll do the climbing.”
Arriving at the top Stanley first examined the back trail, despite Bub’s warning to look first for a smoke. He was thrown into a tumult to notice a rustling in the top of a maple a few rods back, and then sheepishly realized it was nothing but the wind.
Turning his eyes to the west he found that the low hanging sun blinded him till he learned the trick of properly shading his eyes.
