"Thet's it, lad. I'm sorry, but I did my best."
"Oh, I don't blame you, Leeson. But—but if we haven't any horses, how are we to get to the fort?"
"We'll take turns at carrying you," replied Lieutenant Carrol.
Hank Leeson was as worn out as his mare, and while one of the soldiers cared for Nancy the old trapper sank down on his doorstep and told his story. He had followed the desperadoes up hill and down for fifteen miles, and gotten one shot at Fetter, which, he believed, had struck the rascal in the arm. But the party had turned on the trail while passing through a wide patch of timber-land, and on coming out at the other side he had been unable to locate them again. Then, as it was almost morning, he had thought best to return to his cabin, to ascertain how the boys were faring.
"Which road were they near when you saw them last?" asked Lieutenant Carrol.
"Over at Hunkwater's Rock," answered Leeson. "Moving toward the Knob."
"Humph! Then I am afraid Captain Moore won't round them up very quickly."
"My brother didn't go near that trail?" questioned Joe.
