“I’ve come to the conclusion,” Dick commented dryly, “that Toma is taking too much responsibility upon himself. He’s not satisfied with doing most of the work; he must do most of the thinking too.”
“It’s a terrible state of affairs,” Sandy growled. “What will we do with him?”
“As duly appointed judge sitting on this case, I propose to make an example of you, John Toma. Prisoner before the bar, with malice aforethought, I do hereby sentence you to four hours of solitary slumber.”
“Without benefit of clergy,” supplemented Sandy.
“Without benefit of clergy and with his boots on.”
“Moccasins, your honor,” corrected the prosecuting attorney.
“All right,” Dick laughed, “without clergy and with moccasins tightly strapped about his ankles. Take him to his cell, sheriff.”
“I no understand what you try say me,” said the prisoner, a little bewildered.
“You’re to sleep four hours without stopping while Dick and I keep watch,” Sandy explained.
It was exactly three o’clock by Dick’s watch when the three boys emerged from the thicket to continue their interrupted flight. The rain had ceased falling and a few stars peeped out from between dark clouds, scudding before the wind.
“We’ll make a nice wet trail through the wet grass,” Sandy grumbled sleepily. “Almost anybody could follow us.”
“It may be more difficult than you think,” Dick was of the opinion. “The sun will be up in an hour, and it won’t take long to dry things off.”
Their course away from the river—almost due west—led them across a rolling plain in the direction of a high range of hills, beyond which were the mountains. With the coming of daylight, they discerned the gray outline of the nearest hill, not more than two miles away.
The hill was steep and wide, more like a lofty plateau than a hill. Trees and vegetation covered its lower portion, but towards its summit the earth and rocks were perfectly bare.
“We’re going to have a good, stiff climb,” Dick remarked. “Do you feel equal to it, Sandy?”
The person addressed shifted his pack over chafed and burning shoulders.
“If I had something to eat, I could make it better.”
“No eat ’till we get to top,” said Toma. “We hide better up there. Indians see where we are if stop here.”
It took an hour of exhausting effort to make the ascent. Very much out of breath, limbs shaking with weariness, they stumbled forward a few paces, then threw off their shoulder-packs and proceeded to bring forth the meagre store of food that remained to them. Dick divided a bannock and a small chunk of bacon.