They were going to ride together because it was Sunday and because, if the weather held to its past and present mood of sweet serenity, he might feel impelled to start the wagons out before the week was done; so that this might be their last Sunday ride for nobody knew how long.
"Let's ride up the creek," she suggested when she was in the saddle.
"We haven't been up that way this spring.

There's a trail, isn't there ?" "Sure, there's a trail--but I don't know what shape it's in.

I haven't been over it myself for a month or so.

We'll try it, but yuh won't find much to see; it's all level creek-bottom for miles and kinda monotonous to look at." "Well, we'll go, anyway," she decided, and they turned their horses' heads toward the west.
They had gone perhaps five or six miles and were thinking of turning back, when Billy found cause to revise his statement that there was nothing to see.

There had been nothing when he rode this way before, but now, when they turned to follow a bend in the creek and in the trail, they came upon a camp which looked more permanent than was usual in that country.