"
"Did you overhear him say anything definite about his plans for the
trip?"
"What, him? He never talks, that fellow. He can't do nothing but
sputter if he tries. But I wrote out his orders, and they give him to
the twenty-fifth to make the Big Horn. That's maybe something like
fifty miles a day, and he's most likely to keep his horses fresh just
as long as possible, so as to be good for the last spurt through the
hostile country. That's how I figure it, and I know something about
scouting. You was n't planning to strike out after him, was you?"
"I might risk it if I only thought I could overtake him within two
days; my business is of some importance."
"Well, stranger, I should reckon you might do that with a dog-gone good
outfit. Murphy 's sure to take things pretty easy to-day, and he's
almost certain to follow the old mining trail as far as the ford over
the Belle Fourche, and that's plain enough to travel. Beyond that
point the devil only knows where he will go, for then is when his hard
ridin' begins."
The moment the operator mentioned that odd scar on Murphy's hand, every
vestige of hesitation vanished.
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