About This Book
"How many miles have we still to ride, Benson?" "About fifty, Joe. But the last half is pretty much uphill, lad." "Can we make the fort by to-morrow night?" "Well, we can try," answered the old scout, who sat astride of a coal-black horse and rode slightly in advance of his two youthful companions. "It will depend somewhat on what the weather does." "Why, do you think it is going to rain?" put in Darry Germain. "I'm sure it looks clear enough." "Aint no telling what the weather will do in this valley," answered Sam Benson. "It may stay clear for a week, but to me the signs don't exactly p'int that way," and he shook his head gravely. "A little rain wouldn't hurt," said Joe Moore. "A couple of miles back the road was fearfully dusty." "The trouble is, when it rains out here it rains," answered the old scout. "The clouds come a-tumbling over yonder mountains, and inside of half an hour you'd fancy the water was going to drown out everything." "Then if it rains we'll have to put up somewhere," said Darry Germain. "Aint no cabin on this trail short of Hank Leeson's place, twenty miles this side of the fort. If we can get that far I reckon we can make the fort." "Then where will we stop to-night?" asked Darry with interest. "At the Star Hotel—if the sky is clear," said Sam Benson, with a laugh at what he considered his little joke.
