“You’ll get them back,” assured Endicott.  “I am only borrowing them to go and hunt for a couple of friends of mine back there in the bad lands.”

“Back in the bad lands!  What do ye know about the bad lands?  Ye’ll git lost, an’ then what’ll happen to me?  I’ll die like a coyote in a trap!  I’ll starve here where no one comes along fer it’s sometimes a week—­mebbe two!”

“It will be a long time between meals if anything should happen to us, but it will do you good to lie here and think it over.  We’ll be back sometime.”  Endicott made the sack of provisions fast to the saddle of the lead-horse, and assisted Alice to mount.

“I’ll kill ye fer this!” wailed the man; “I’ll—­I’ll—­” but the two rode away with the futile threats ringing in their ears.

CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF THE TRAIL

“How are we going to find them?” asked the girl, as the two drew their mounts to a stand on the top of a low ridge and gazed out over the sea of similar ridges that rolled and spread before them as far as the eye could reach in three directions—­bare coulees, and barer ridges, with here and there a low bare hill, all black and red and grey, with studdings of mica flashing in the rays of the afternoon sun.

“We’ll find them.  We’ve got to.  I have just been thinking:  Living on the edge of the bad lands the way this man does he must occasionally cross them.  Tex said that the Split Rock water-hole was the only one between the river and the mountains.  We’ll start the horses out and give them their heads, and the chances are they will take us to the water-hole.  In all probability Tex and Bat will be there.  If they are not we will have to find them.”

“Of course!” assented the girl.  “Oh, Win, I’m so proud of you!  I couldn’t be any prouder if you were a—­a real cowboy!” Endicott laughed heartily, and urged his horse forward.  The animals crossed several low ridges and struck into a coulee which they followed unhesitatingly.  When it petered out in a wide basin, they struck into another coulee, and continued their course, covering the miles at a long, swinging trot.  At sundown Endicott reined in sharply and pointed to the northward.  “It’s the ridge of the Split Rock!” he cried; “and look, there is the soda hill!” There it was only a mile or two away—­the long black ridge with the huge rock fragment at its end, and almost touching it, the high round hill that the Texan had described.

The horses pressed eagerly forward, seeming to know that rest and water were soon to be theirs.  “I wonder if they are there,” breathed the girl, “and I wonder if they are—­all right.”

A few minutes later the horses swung around the base of the hill and, with an exclamation of relief, Endicott saw two figures seated beside the detached fragment of rock that lay near the end of the ridge.

The Texan arose slowly and advanced toward them, smiling:  “Good evenin’,” he greeted, casually, as he eyed the pair with evident approval.  “You sure come a-runnin’.  We didn’t expect you ’til along about noon tomorrow.  And we didn’t expect you at all,” he said to the girl.  “We figured you’d shove on to Timber City, an’ then Win would get a guide an’ come back in the mornin’.”