They ain't
seen hide nor hair uh her since. Aw, don't stand starin' at me thataway.
Hurry up! They ain't got twelve hours' start--an' by God I'll smell 'em
out in the dark for this!"
It was like a knife-thrust in the back; such a devilish and unexpected
turn of affairs that for half a second I had the same shuddery feeling
that came to me the night I stooped over Hans Rutter and gasped at sight
of what the fiends had done. MacRae whitened, but the full import of
Piegan's words stunned him to silence. The bare possibility of Lyn Rowan
being at the dubious mercy of those ruthless brutes was something that
called for more than mere words. He hesitated only a moment, nervously
twisting the saddle-strings with one hand, then straightened up and tore
loose the cinch fastening.
After that outburst of Piegan's no one spoke. While Mac and I
transferred our saddles to the Baker horses, Piegan swung down from his
gray and, opening the pack on the horse we had been leading, took out a
little bundle of flour and bacon and coffee and tied it behind the
cantle of his saddle. A frying-pan and coffee-pot he tossed to me. Then
we mounted and took to the trail again, stripped down to fighting-trim,
unhampered by a pack-horse.
Of daylight there yet remained a scant two hours in which we could hope
to distinguish a hoof-mark.
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