Piegan leaned over his saddle-horn and took
hills and hollows, wherever the trail led, with a rush that unrolled the
miles behind us at a marvelous rate. For an hour we galloped silently,
matching the speed of fresh, wiry horses against the dying day, no sound
arising in that wilderness of brown coulee banks and dun-colored prairie
but the steady beat of hoofs, and the purr of a rising breeze from the
east. Then I became aware that Piegan, watching the ground through
half-closed eyelids, was speaking to us. From riding a little behind, to
give him room to trail, we urged our horses alongside.
"Them fellers at Baker's camp," he said, without looking up, "would 'a'
come in a holy minute if there'd been hosses for 'em t' ride. But they
only had enough saddle-stock along t' wrangle the bulls--an' I took
three uh the best they had. Three of us is enough, anyhow. We kain't
ride up on them fellers now an' go t' shootin'. They're all together
again. I seen, back a ways, where them two hoss-tracks angled back from
the spring. They must 'a' laid up at that camp we passed till sometime
before daylight--seein' that damned Hicks come t' Baker's early this
mornin'. An' if they didn't travel very fast t'-day--which ain't likely,
'cause they probably figure they're dead safe, and their track don't
show a fast gait--there's just a chance that we'll hit 'em by dark if we
burn the earth.
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