ose Pilot Peak,
rocky and snowy, with the main range stretching on either side of it.
But between Pilot Peak and me there lay a big country of heavy timber.
Yes, in every direction was heavy timber. I had run without thinking,
and now it was pretty hard to tell exactly where I was.

I stood for a minute and tried to figure in what direction that beaver
man probably had ridden. He had come in on our left, as we sat, and had
probably gone along toward our right. I tried to remember which way the
shadows had fallen, in the sunset, and which way west had been, from our
right or left as we were sitting.

Finally I was quite certain that the shadows had fallen sort of
quartering, from right to left, and so the man probably had made toward
the west. It was a good thing that I had noticed the shadows, but to
notice little things is a Scout's training.

I stuffed the flags inside my shirt, and tied my coat about me; only one
arrow was left, out of six; the five others must have fallen when I was
running. And I was hungry and didn't have a thing to eat, because when
the gang had captured us they had taken our bread and chocolate, along
with our match-boxes and knives and other stuff. That was mean of them.
But with a look about for smoke signals I took my bow and started across
the top of the hill.

It was to be the lone trail and the hungry trail for Jim Bridger. But he
had slept on post, and he was paying for it. Now if he (that was I, you
know) only could get back that message, and thus make good, he wouldn't
mind lonesomeness or hunger or thirst or tiredness or wet or anything.

I wasn't afraid of the gang overtaking me or finding me, if I kept my
wits about me. And after I was over the brow of the hill I swung into
the west, at Scouts' pace of trot and walk mixed. This took me along the
top of the hill, to a draw or little valley that cut through. The draw
was thick with spruces and pines and was brushy at the bottom, so I went
around the head of it. That was easier than climbing down and up
again--and the draw would have been a bad place to be cornered in.

I watched out for trails, but I did not cross a thing, and I began to
edge down to strike that stream which passed the gang's camp. Often
trails follow along streams, where the cattle and horses travel. The man
who had our message might have used this trail but although I edged and
edged, keeping right according to the sun, I didn't strike that stream.
Up and down