Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again. The drunken buccaroos
yelled hot on their heels at first, holding more obstinately to this
chase than sober ruffians would have attempted. Ten cold, dark miles
across the hills it took to cure them; but when their shootings, that had
followed over heights where the pines grew and down through the open
swales between, dropped off, and died finally away among the willows
along the south fork of the Malheur, Drake reined in his horse with a
jerk.

"Now isn't that too bad!" he exclaimed.

"It is all very bad," said Bolles, sorry to hear the boy's tone of
disappointment.

"I didn't think they'd fool me again," continued Drake, jumping down.

"Again?" inquired the interested Bolles.

"Why, they've gone home!" said the boy, in disgust.

"I was hoping so," said the school-master.

"Hoping? Why, it's sad, Bolles. Four miles farther and I'd have had them
lost."

"Oh!" said Bolles.

"I wanted them to keep after us," complained Drake. "Soon as we had a
good lead I coaxed them. Coaxed them along on purpose by a trail they