The agent shook his head.
"No."
"Or a place where the river might be forded?"
"Not now. The heavy rains have swollen the stream, as you can see. In real dry weather he might find a place to ford."
"Well, it's certain that if he came this way to merely get out of our reach he chose an awful way of doing it," remarked Matt, as a sudden lurch of the wagon sent him bouncing up into the air. "This is the worst riding I've struck yet."
"Worse than when Billy ran away?" questioned Andy, with a sudden gleam of humor.
"Well, hardly that," admitted the young auctioneer. "But that wasn't riding at all. That was a slap-bang, go-as-you-please trip, which didn't—hullo! look there!"
He motioned to the freight agent to draw rein and pointed to a deep track in a soft bit of ground ahead.
"It's the track of our wagon sure enough!" exclaimed Andy. "I could tell it out of a hundred."
"So could I, Andy. Follow that, please," went on Matt, to the agent.
"It's queer you didn't see that track before," said the driver slowly.
"The reason is because it comes from the rocks.
