"They seem--to be a-closin' in," he declared, finally, staring around
into the other's face, all bravado gone. "There's anuther lot--bucks,
all o' 'em--out west yonder--an' over east a smudge is--just startin'.
Looks like--we wus in a pocket--an' thar' might be some--har-raisin'
fore long."
"Well, Murphy, you are the older hand at this business. What do you
advise doing?"
"Me? Why, push right 'long--while we kin keep under cover.
Then--after dark--trust ter bull luck an' make--'nuther dash. It's
mostly luck, anyhow. Thet canyon just ahead--looks like it leads a
long way--toward the Powder. Its middling deep down, an' if there
ain't Injuns in it--them fellers out yonder--never cud git no sight at
us. Thet's my notion--thet ivery mile helps in this--business."
"You mean we should start now?"
"Better--let the cattle rest--first. An'--if ye ever feed prisoners--I
'd like ter eat a bite--mesilf."
They rested there for over two hours, the tired horses contentedly
munching the succulent grass of the _coulee_, their two masters
scarcely exchanging a word. Murphy, after satisfying his appetite,
rested flat upon his back, one arm flung over his eyes to protect them
from the sun.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373