"We can go down and tackle that
bull-train we saw pulling along the foot of the ridge. They'll know
we're on the dodge, but that won't make any difference to them. I know
nearly every bull-whacker that freights out of Benton, and they're a
pretty white bunch. If it's Baker's outfit, especially, we'll be welcome
as flowers in May. You said they'd likely camp at that spring--Ten Mile,
isn't it? What d'ye think? Shall we go down and take a chance? I sure
don't like the look of things up here. It's going to be a rip-snorter of
a night, once it cuts loose."
"I'm ready to go against nearly anything, right now," MacRae frankly
owned. "If you think it's worth trying, why, it's a go with me."
"Let's drift, then," I declared; and straightway we turned our horses
broadside to the wind and tore away for Ten Mile Spring and the
creature comforts I knew were to be had at the white-sheeted wagons we
saw crawling slowly along the Stony Crossing trail late that afternoon.
As Mac had calculated, the freight-train was camped at the Spring; and
it was a mighty good thing for us that MacRae knew that country so well
or we would never have found them, short of riding our horses to a
standstill. Long before we got there the deep-throated thunder was
growling over us, and the clouds spat occasional flurries of rain.
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