With Washington in the west;

“Fanny is gone?” cried Dave, and sprang up instantly, for the mare mentioned was his own, given to him by his father, just before the parent had departed from the farm at Will’s Creek. Fanny had been a pet in the Morris family for years and Dave thought a great deal of her.

“Yes, she’s gone, and Lovejoy, too,” went on Joseph Morris. “I can’t find trace of them anywhere.”

“They can’t be very far off,” put in Aaron Crosby. “For I looked after all the animals not more than an hour ago, and they were well fastened.”

“Could they have been stolen?” asked Dave, with increased anxiety.

“I don’t think so,” said his uncle. “I haven’t seen anybody around, have you?”

Neither Dave nor Crosby had, and the party came to the conclusion that the horses must have broken away in their fright. But be that as it might, they could not afford such a loss, and moreover Dave could not bear to think of losing Fanny. Wet and dark as it was those who had retired arose and a small camp-fire was lit in a sheltered corner, and from this each provided himself with a torch.

The other steeds remained as they had been left, but not even a trace of the halters which had held Fanny and Lovejoy could be found.

“If they broke away we ought to find the broken leathers,” said Dave, soberly. “I don’t believe Fanny could slip the knot I tied for her. She never did so before, and I’ve tied her up in the same way a hundred times.”

“Both horses are worth some money,” said Joseph Morris, “not to speak of that really fine saddle Dave has been using. Yes, we must find them by all means, although I must confess I do not know how to begin the search.”

With great care they examined the ground, the scattering rain wetting them thoroughly in the meantime. At last they found something like a trail which led to the northward, along the western slope of the mountain.

“I can’t see anything to do but to follow this trail,” was Joseph Morris’ comment. “But we need not all go. Mr. Crosby, will you look after the other horses and our traps?”

“Assuredly,” answered Aaron Crosby. “But if you are not back by daybreak, what then?”

“Then you might as well move on to Caspar’s place and leave our horses and traps there. Tell Caspar that we will come for them soon.”

So it was arranged, and providing themselves with fresh torches, Joseph Morris and Dave set out on the hunt. They went afoot, for the trail was hilly, full of stones and uncertain, and they did not wish to run any chances of a serious fall.

The storm was now letting up, but the furious downpour had left the hillside exceedingly wet and slippery, while here and there was a hollow filled with water. The wind still blew and this sent down the water from the trees long after the rain had ceased.

Over a mile was covered and they were afraid they had lost the trail when they came out upon a narrow ledge of rocks overlooking a shallow but wide ravine between two of the hills. As they came into the open Dave suddenly clutched his uncle by the arm.

“Put down the torch,” he cried. “Look!”

His own torch went down behind some brush, and that of Joseph Morris quickly followed. Both gazed in the direction the lad was pointing out. It was to the opposite side of the ravine, and there they saw a torch waving slowly from one side to another as if the holder was looking for a safe trail. The torch lit up the faces of two Indians, one leading a horse and the other on a steed’s back.

“Two Indians!” cried Joseph Morris.

“Yes, and that first one is leading Fanny,” returned Dave. “See the white foreleg and the spot on her face?”

“You are right, Dave. Can it be possible those rascals came up in the darkness and stole the horses?”

“I don’t see how they could have them otherwise. Shall I call upon them to halt?”

“No. We had better follow them up. If we call and they see we are on foot, they may ride away from us.”

“But we have our guns.”

“I wouldn’t care to shoot even a redskin unless it was necessary, Dave. Come, we’ll get after them at once.”

“But how are you going to cross the hollow? It’s as black as ink below and maybe full of snakes.”

“We’ll have to go around—I see no other safe way. The Indians went around.”

“But they have the horses.”

“True, but they can’t use them much in the mountains. Of course we’ll have to hurry, or they’ll slip us.”

On they went again, Joseph Morris rightfully concluding that the trail around the hollow was shaped very much like a horseshoe. They held their torches close to the ground and in such a fashion that their bodies were between the lights and the Indians.

About half the distance around the ravine was covered when Joseph Morris, who was in the lead, gave a sudden cry of dismay. “We are in a pickle truly!” he exclaimed. “There is an opening here both wide and deep. I don’t see how we are to cross it.”

“Can’t we leap over?”

Mr. Morris shook his head. “I would not dare to risk it in the dark.”

“But the Indians must have gone over, and the horses, Uncle Joe.”

“I don’t see how they could. Let us brighten up the torches a bit and look around. They can’t see the lights from this point.”

They swung the fagots vigorously and soon had lights which lit up the scene for a considerable distance. Then commenced another close examination of the ground.

“They came to this point, that is sure,” said Dave. “But I see no other trail.”

“They passed over these rocks, Dave. Come, let us move to the left.”

Joseph Morris proceeded over the rocks with care, for the way was uncertain and he did not wish to court a fall in that darkness. The rocks and more brush passed, they came to the ravine again, but at a point where there was a well defined trail leading downward.

“Found!” cried Dave. “See, here is the trail as plain as day.”

No more was said, and they plunged into the darkness of the ravine. Here it was even wetter than it had been at the brink, and the bushes, laden with water, struck them in the faces at almost every step. But as they were already soaked this was no added discomfort, although the water made Dave shiver with cold.

Fearing the Indians might reach some point where they would take to the horses, they hurried onward with all speed. Soon they were out of the hollow once more and moving to the point where Dave had discovered the redskins.

They now learned why one of the Indians had been on foot and why both were moving so slowly. The ground was full of treacherous holes and soft spots and presently Joseph Morris went up to his knees in one of these.

“A horse would have broken his leg here, were he on a swift walk,” said he, while Dave helped him out of his difficulty. “It is almost like a honeycomb.”

Presently the trail led away from the ravine and through a cedar grove. This caused their hearts to sink within them, for they felt that a good road could not be far off. They were not mistaken, and soon came out upon it.

“This is the end,” groaned Joseph Morris.

“Yes, this is the end,” echoed Dave. “Oh, what luck! I suppose they must be several miles away by this time.”

“True, unless they do not suspect that they are being followed.”

“Have you any idea where this road leads to?”

“Probably around the mountains and then westward, but not within ten miles of the trail we shall follow.”

They talked the matter over and concluded to follow the road for another mile or two, and set off on the fastest walk they could command. It was a shale road, dry, firm, and even, and they covered the distance quickly. But neither Indians nor horses appeared anywhere.

“We may as well give it up, Dave,” said Joseph Morris at last, as he sank down on a rock to rest. “They have got a good start and to catch them on foot is plainly out of the question.”

“Poor Fanny!” murmured the youth, sadly. “I don’t care so much for that new horse, but I did love the little mare.”

“Yes, it’s too bad, lad, too bad truly. But it’s done, and there is small comfort in weeping over it. We may as well go back. I know you are tired, but if we don’t go back now, we’ll have to walk all the way to Caspar’s place.”

They listened, there in the depth of the mountain woods, but the only sound that reached their ears was the rain as it dripped down on the rocks. They rested a little while, then turned back, each with a heavy heart and much discouraged.

“We didn’t gain much on the trip after all,” was Dave’s comment. “The horses are worth much more than those pelts we picked up.”

“True, Dave, but it can’t be helped. And you mustn’t forget that bee tree. That’s worth something.”

“I’d like to know what redskins it was who took the horses.”

“We may find out some day—unless they drive them westward right away,” answered Joseph Morris.

When they got back to the cliff they found Aaron Crosby sleeping soundly in the very midst of the remaining animals. Without disturbing him, they built a large camp-fire and set about drying their clothing. Then they too lay down to rest, and soon Dave was in the land of dreams.