I sat up abruptly. My horse’s ears were pricked, and he was looking along the trail. A man was coming along it on a crow-bait horse. He was looking my way.
Getting up from the ground, I tightened my cinch.
The shagows were reaching out from the tocks and cliffs.
The sun was low, not yet down, but the coolness had begun and I could now ride aDo but I was not pleased by this meeting.
The man on the crow-bait had pulled up on the trail, waiting for me.
His hands were in plain view, and he showed no danger signs, but I was wary.
Suinging into the saddle, I walked my horse down to the trail.
“Howdy!” His eyes were a watery blue, but there was a sharpness to them, and I was sure he had missed no detail of my outfit. “Travelin’ fur?” “Walker’s Pass. Maybe east from there “Ain’t no other way to go, onct you get there.” “I could turn around and ride back,” I said.
And if there were no tracks there, that was just what I might do.
‘So You could.” His eyes clung to the saddlebags.
“Been minin”?” “Me? I’m a cowhand.” And then I added, not too honestly, for I did not want him to know too much, come never do anything I can’t do from the back of a horse.” “Must be difficult, sometimes,” he said. “I can think of a lot of things I couldn’t do a-horseback.” When I offered no comment, we rode on in silence for some distance.
His horse was in poor shape. It had been hard-used for some time, but it had not been much of a horse to begin with. The man himself had a poor outfit, all except his rifle. That was in good shape, oiled and cared for. He had no hand-gun anywhere that I could see, but I had learned not to be too trusting.
After a while he began to talk again, and his comments were prying ones. The less I said the more curious he became, so I finally said, ‘I like drifting. Never held to one job too long. I came out California way after a girl,” which was at least partly true, “but she took off with another man. Right now I’m just seeing country, but I’m trying to decide whether I should try to ride up Virginia City way, or turn back and ride north to Oregon. I’ve never been to either place.” “They ain’t much. Anyways,” he suggested, coma man would have to have money.” I chuckled. ‘ationot if he rides the grub-line. I can always do a mite of work for a meal, if need be. I never paid much mind to money.
I’m no hand for gambling, and as long as I can eat and sleep, I’ll make out.” “Good horse you got there,” he said. “Don’t look like no cowhand’s horse.” ‘Swapped for him,” I lied. “Td caught me a couple of wild ones, young stuff and pretty good. I swapped ’em for this one.” But my outfit was just a little too good for a cowhand to afford, and I felt that he believed none of it. The wellfilled saddlebags continued to hold his attention. If given a chance, I was sure he would try to steal everything I had, and to murder me if chance allowed.
The miles fell behind us, and night drew near.
The heat had gone, and here and there a star was appearing.
From time to time his horse started to lag behind, something to be expected considering the animal he rode, but I didn’t like it, so I drew up and waited for him.
‘Sorry, mister,” he grumbled, “this here animal just ain’t able to keep up. You ride ahead and find a place to camp. We’ll catch up.” “It’s early to camp,” I said.
There was something about him now that turned me cold inside, and I knew I didn’t want to go to sleep in the same camp with him. I was dead-tired with the riding, the heat, and the dust, and I had relaxed from what I had gone through in the days just past. I knew I would sleep too soundly for my own safety. The way he eyed my horse and saddlebags left me only one conclusion, yet I could neither accuse him nor offer any good excuse for riding on without him.
My horse could easily outdistance his, but that would mean turning my back to him, something I certainly didn’t want to do.
“Maybe you’re rigb at I said after a moment.
‘I am tired.” Suddenly I saw a small cove in the hills with some clumps of brush. “There!
That might be a good place.” He turned his head, and I drew my gun.
When he tm-ned back and started to speak he looked hard at me and then at the gun. He made no move at all. He was a very careful man.
‘My friend,” I said, “I don’t know you. I like traveling alone, and so I’m going to leave you right here. Get off your horse.” He hesitated.
For a moment I thought he was going to chance it, but he had no pistol in sight, and I could not figure him having anything larger than a derringer. “You can’t get away with this,” he said, “leav’m” a man afoot.” “You aren’t going to be afoot,” I said. “I’m just going to let you walk a mile to get your horse.
I’ll leave him tied up yonder.” “I done nothin” to you.” His voice was surly.
“You had some ideas, though,” I told him, ‘and I don’t care for them.
I’ve got nothing anybody would want but this horse-” “Yeah?” he sneered. But my gesture with the gun got him off the horse, and taking its bridle I rode away, keeping an eye on him nonetheless. A mile away I tied the horse to some brush, and lit out.
He could make that mile in fifteen minutes, I figured, but by that time I would be four or five miles off and still going.
The dun was ready for it. The horse had liked that man no more than I had, and felt like running in the cool air of evening.
It was wide-open country, gently rolling hills apd little brush, and by day one could see for miles, but at night after a few yards a man was lost to view.
I rode rapidly for perhaps three miles, then settled down to an easy lope and kept it up. The dun was a tough range-andmountain horse, and was accustomed to going for long stretches.
From time to time I checked the Big Dipper for the time, watching it swing around the Pole Star. After a while I slowed the dun to a walk, but I kept on going. I should camp soon, but the thought of that old man on my trail worried me. He would be coming along, and he was not going to be easy to lose.
The country presently became more broken.
Several times I deliberately turned off the trail to one side or the other, leaving well-defined tracks where I turned off, and returning to the trail in places where the tracks were not likely to be seen. But I had a hunch the old man was an Injun on the trail.
For five hours I rode, and then my own weariness and the growing weariness of my horse made me realize that I must turn to in a camp.
Taking a turn at a place in the deepest shadow of a rock, I scrambled up a steep trail and rode along the top of a mesa, then off the other edge into a deep canyon. Here there was a trail of sorts, for the dun kept going when I could see nothing but occasional glimpses of the whiter, hard-packed ground.
Of a sudden, I heard water. Rounding a corner of rock, I found myself in a small basin where a trickle of water fell into a pool. A few cottonwoods were there, and some willow brush, and it was as good a camping spot as a man could want. It was at least three-quarters of a mile off the trail, and in a spot where I’d be hard to find.
Picketing my horse on a small patch of grass, I unrolled my blankets on the far side of a cottonwood tree where the ground lay bare and smooth.
With my saddle for a pillow, I was soon asleep, not forgetting to place my Colt close to my hand.
My eyes opened to broad daylight, and opened on my strange pursuer. He sat his saddle not twenty feet away, and as I opened my eyes he shook out a loop. I started to come up fast, the loop shot out, and I had just warning enough to throw up an arm and get that as well as my neck, into the loop. Dropping my hand, I grasped the rope, but he slapped spurs to his horse and jumped him, and all that saved me was the sudden lunge I gave, throwin myself past the cottonwood tree and snubbing the rope there.