They watered the horses and took a drink themselves, and pushed on without stopping further. Allen knew they must keep on the move if they expected to reach Daddy Wampole's crossroads ranch before the evening shadows fell.
On through the forest of spruce and hemlock, with here and there a tall cottonwood, they spurred their horses. The foot of the hill was soon reached, and up they toiled.
"And big room for improvements," returned Allen, grimly. "It will take a deal of labor to put this land in shape for use."
"We never realize what the pioneers had to contend with when they first settled this country until we see things as they are here. To cut down forests, level the land, build houses and barns, and fix roads--it's an immense amount of labor, truly."
At noon they halted near the top of a second hill, and here started up just enough of a fire to boil themselves a pot of coffee. They had brought jerked meat and crackers from home and made a comfortable, if not luxurious meal. In twenty minutes they were again on the way, the horses in the meantime having also been fed.
"Daddy Wampole's ranch is our post office," explained Allen, as they rode along side by side. "The mail comes down from Deadwood once a week. It's not very extensive and Wampole usually puts everything in a soap box and lets every comer pick out whatever belongs to him."
Noel laughed. "I've heard of such doings before," he said. "I suppose he has another box of letters to be mailed."
"It's not a very safe way to do. Letters might easily be stolen or taken by mistake. Who knows but what some communication from your uncle was carried off by another?"
Allen's face grew serious. "I never thought of that. But who would be mean enough to do it?"
"The man who sent that forged letter to me would be mean enough."
"So he would! I must ask Wampole if he remembers any letter addressed to us."
It was now the hottest part of the day. The road was dry and dusty and the horses hung out their tongues as they toiled onward. All were glad when they reached a portion of the road overhung by huge rocks a hundred feet or more in height.
"A day in the saddle seems a long while," said Noel Urner.
"And we have four more days to follow," smiled Allen. "I was afraid it would tire you."