box had been wrenched one from another and were scattered hither and yon. A little way off, at the side of the tail, lay a large bowlder. It was the reef on which the wagon had been wrecked.
Ruthven, after making sure that he had escaped with only a few minor bruises and contusions, arose to his feet and looked along the trail for the horses. They were not in sight. Facing the other way, he tried to discover some trace of the two holdup men. This was equally fruitless. In the middle distance, however, something moved which upon investigation proved to be William Martin. He was on the ground and struggling to get rid of the dashboard, through which he had run his head to the shoulders.
"Are you hurt, Martin?" Ruthven asked.
"Not a hull lot, I reckon. Pull this bloomin' thing off o' me, will you?"
Ruthven removed the dashboard. "I guess the horses ran away," he remarked uselessly.
"Oh, no," jeered the cowboy, "it ain't possible! They just started for the Musselshell in a hurry and didn't stop to consider. I ain't a-wonderin' they got skeered. Them road agents certainly threw a crimp into me. What can you expect o' bronks when a reasonin' human can't put up with such doin's?"
He hoisted himself erect and gazed northward. "I reckon Ginger and Pete are halfway to the ranch by now," he went on, and turned for a look the other way. "Highwaymen ain't in sight nuther. We must be a plumb mile from where they tried to stop us." He added quizzically: "Which 'u'd you ruther be, robbed or run away with?"
"Hobson's choice, Martin," said Ruthven, with a laugh. "It was out of the frying pan and into the fire, seems to me."
"I was all right till the seat jounced out," resumed Martin, "and when that went I went along. The ground h'isted itself and hit me an awful crack. Blamed if I know where or how I picked up the dashboard. There was a kind of blank after I come down, and when I got back to earth I was laborin' to git clear of that front end o' the wagon. I allow that vee-hick-le is beyond mendin'. This ort to convince the old man that Ginger and Pete ain't got the right dispositions to drive double, or"
He bit off his words abruptly. "Say," he asked in trepidation, "I wonder what-all's become o' them boots?"
"We'd better hunt around and find out," suggested Ruthven. "The robbers mentioned the boots, if I remember."
"They sure did. Wasn't that a funny stunt? Holdin' us up just for nothin' but to annex the old man's footgear. Come on and let's hunt."
They went back to the bowlder that had played such havoc with the wagon, but could not find the parcel in the wreckage; then, following the route taken by the runaway horses, they proceeded on and on, sharply scanning the ground as they went. The first thing they found was the box that had held the tomatoes. It was broken and empty. The cans were scattered in all directions. Later they found the flour, and presently the bacon. Then, just as they were about to lose hope, they happened upon the package. It was partly demolished. The wrapper was torn, the cord was broken, and the top of the pasteboard box was off. One of the tan bluchers had kicked through, and only its laced top lay in the original container. The other boot was with it.
"Gosh, I'm glad o' that!" breathed Martin thankfully. "I don't care a whoop about the wagon, but if anything had happened to them boots the old man would never have forgiven me."
