As they were starting on the long forty-mile ride, Mr. Wilder and
Nails were ending it. Though forced to ride carefully so long as
they were on the mountain trail, when the latter reached the plains
they had "cut loose." Both were expert horsemen and the ponies
under them were mettlesome. Indeed, Blackhawk had not entirely
recovered his temper since his roping and it was he that set the
pace. Yet the riders did not allow the ponies to run themselves
out in the first few miles, holding them down to a long, steady
lope that covered the ground rapidly.
"Where do you suppose we are the most likely to strike the outfit
from the Three Stars, at home or in Tolopah?" asked Mr. Wilder
after a time.
"At home. They were to get the cattle day before yesterday, and
Sandy told me they planned to stay at the ranch to-day to pack grub
so as to save a trip of the wagon."
"Then we ought to find the whole crew at home."
"That's just what Pete and I were banking on," returned Nails.
This point settled, the ranchman refused further conversation, to
the disappointment of his companion, occupying himself with mapping
out his campaign.
After a time the ponies began to slacken their stride, but the
vigorous rowelling they received from the spurs of the men on their
backs told them they were bound on pressing business, and they
responded gamely.
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