In twenty minutes their breakfast was eaten and they
were in the saddle. The sun had not yet risen
when they came out of the willows to the broad shallow
basin of the river. In spring, when the snow of
the mountains melted, that river filled from bank
to bank with a yellow torrent; at the dry season of
the year it was a dirty little creek meandering through
the sands. Down the bank they rode at a sharp
trot for a mile and a half until Black Bart, who scouted
ahead of them at his gliding wolf-trot, came to an
abrupt stop. Dan spoke to Satan and the stallion
broke into a swift gallop which left the pony of Tex
Calder labouring in the rear. When they drew rein
beside the wolf, they found seven distinct tracks
of horses which went down the bank of the river and
crossed the basin. Calder turned with a wide-eyed
amazement to Dan.
“You’re right again,” he said, not
without a touch of vexation in his voice; “but
the dog stopped at these tracks. How does he know
we are hunting for Silent’s crew?”
“I dunno,” said Dan, “maybe he jest
suspects.”
“They can’t have a long start of us,”
said Calder. “Let’s hit the trail.
Well get them before night.”
“No,” said Dan, “we won’t.”
“Why won’t we?”
“I’ve seen Silent’s hoss, and I’ve
ridden him. If the rest of his gang have the
same kind of hoss flesh, you c’n never catch
him with that cayuse of yours.”
“Maybe not today,” said Calder, “but
in two days we’ll run him down. Seven horses
can’t travel as two in a long chase.”
They started out across the basin, keeping to the
tracks of Silent’s horses. It was the marshal’s
idea that the outlaws would head on a fairly straight
line for the railroad and accordingly when they lost
the track of the seven horses they kept to this direction.
Twice during the day they verified their course by
information received once from a range rider and once
from a man in a dusty buck-board. Both of these
had sighted the fast travelling band, but each had
seen it pass an hour or two before Calder and Dan
arrived. Such tidings encouraged the marshal
to keep his horse at an increasing speed; but in the
middle of the afternoon, though black Satan showed
little or no signs of fatigue, the cattle-pony was
nearly blown and they were forced to reduce their
pace to the ordinary dog-trot.
CHAPTER XVII
THE PANTHER’S PAW
Evening came and still they had not sighted the outlaws.
As dark fell they drew near a house snuggled away
among a group of cottonwoods. Here they determined
to spend the night, for Calder’s pony was now
almost exhausted. A man of fifty came from the
house in answer to their call and showed them the
way to the horse-shed. While they unsaddled their
horses he told them his name was Sam Daniels, yet
he evinced no curiosity as to the identity of his guests,
and they volunteered no information. His eyes
lingered long and fondly over the exquisite lines
of Satan. From behind, from the side, and in front,
he viewed the stallion while Dan rubbed down the legs
of his mount with a care which was most foreign to
the ranges. Finally the cattleman reached out
a hand toward the smoothly muscled shoulders.
