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 They followed the tracks carefully, and soon they came to the saddle bags, which had been scraped off from the horse's back. Reuben put them aboard the other horse.

"Now for the critter himself," he said.

The tracks led on and on; and not until almost noon did they sight the loose horse, grazing in a small open spot. He was too weak to be wild, and they caught him easily by his dragging neck rope. Reuben transferred the saddle bags, and clambered stiffly on.

"We've a hoss apiece, anyhow, Peter," he proclaimed. "But I'm so empty I don't cast a shadow. Come on, let's take the cap'n his saddle bags."

Empty! Anyway—hooray! And now for "home."

Reuben, who was leading, suddenly pulled his horse short. He slipped off, and resting his rifle on the horse's back, took long aim. Two grouse were sitting on a limb, craning their necks foolishly. Peter could see the rifle muzzle waver; he himself felt as though he could not draw his bow. The rifle cracked—the grouse went hurling. Good! Reuben swiftly reloaded, and aimed—and down spun the other grouse. But when they were picked up, both were in a pulp, from which dangled the heads and legs. Reuben shook his own head dolefully.

"And once I could clip off a bird's head at fifty paces. Well, I was lucky to hit 'em at all, for I can't hold steady."

The two grouse made scarcely a couple of mouth