CHAPTER 31TWICE DURING the day Bruce Powell made the trip from their improvised shelter to the creek, bringing back water in his hat. The hours dragged by. He spent most of them lying on his stomach watching: the surrounding country. During the morning he saw half a dozen horsemen apparently riding aimlessly through the rough country, but never were they close enough to be recognized.
In the afternoon he saw no one and, as dusk approached, he said to Daigle, “Looks like friend Sandson has given up. He probably figures you got a horse and cleared out of the country.”
Daigle’s eyes were fever-bright, and there was a flush over his high cheekbones. He’d half lain, half sat, all during the day under the shelter of the blanket.
The boy had been restless, then hungry. Powell had tried to dist
