Part 36 (2/2)

”It will s.h.i.+ne again,” he said, smiling.

Without a word she touched Black Boyar with the spurs. A stone clattered down as he leaped forward, and she was gone.

Collie curbed the colt Yuma, who would have followed. ”No, little hummingbird,” he said whimsically. ”We aren't so used to heaven that we can ride out of it quite so fast.”

Next morning, with blanket and slicker rolled behind his saddle, he rode down the Moonstone Canon Trail. At the foot of the range he turned eastward, a new world before him. The far hills, hiding the desert beyond, bulked large and mysterious.

Louise had not been present when he bade good-bye to his Moonstone friends.

CHAPTER XXV

IN THE SHADOW OF THE HILLS

The afternoon of the third day out from the Moonstone Ranch, Collie picketed the roan pony Yuma near a water-hole in the desert. He spread his saddle-blankets, rolled a cigarette, and smoked. Presently he rose and took some food from a saddle-pocket.

The pony, unused to the desert, fretted and sniffed at the sagebrush with evident disgust. Collie had given her water, but there was no grazing.

After he had eaten he studied the rough map that Overland had given him.

There, to the south, was the desert town. He had pa.s.sed that, as directed, skirting it widely. There to the east were the hills.

Somewhere behind them was the hidden canon and Overland Red.

Stiff and tired from his long ride, he stretched himself for a short rest. He dozed. Something touched his foot. It was the riata with which he had picketed the pony. He meant to travel again that night. He would sleep a little while. The horse, circling the picket, would be sure to awaken him again.

He slept heavily. The Yuma colt stood with rounded nostrils sniffing the night air. The pony faced in the direction of the distant town. She knew that another horse and rider were coming toward her through the darkness. They were far off, but coming.

For a long time she stood stamping impatiently at intervals. Finally she grew restive. The oncoming horse had stopped. That other animal, the man, had dismounted and was coming toward her on foot. She could not see through the starlit blanket of night, but she knew.

The man-thing drew a little nearer. The pony swerved as if about to run, but hesitated, ears flattened, curious, half-belligerent.

That afternoon Silent Saunders, riding along the border of the desert town, had seen a strange horse and rider far out--away from the road and evidently heading for the water-hole. Saunders rode into town, borrowed a pair of field-gla.s.ses, and rode out again. He at once recognized the roan pony as the Oro outlaw, but the rider? He was not so sure. He would investigate.

The fact that he saw no glimmer of fire as he now approached the water-hole made him doubly cautious. Nearer, he crouched behind a bush.

He threw a pebble at the pony. She circled the picket, awakening Collie, who spoke to her sleepily. Saunders crept back toward his horse. He knew _that_ voice. He would track the young rider to the range and beyond--to the gold. He rode back to town through the night, entered the saloon, and beckoned to a belated lounger.

s.h.i.+vering in the morning starlight, Collie arose and saddled the pony.

He rode in the general direction of the range. The blurred shadow of the foothills seemed stationary. His horse was not moving forward--simply walking a gigantic treadmill of black s.p.a.ce that revolved beneath him.

The hills drew no nearer than did the constellations above them.

Suddenly the shadows of the hills pushed back. Almost instantly he faced the quick rise of the range. Out of the silence came the slithering step of some one walking in the sand. The darkness seemed to expand.

Overland Red stood before him, silent, alert, anxious. ”You, Chico?” he asked.

”Sure. h.e.l.lo, Red.”

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