Maybe we'll get 'em dead t' rights. No tellin' what'll
come up when we get into that canyon. When we get 'em spotted we c'n
make up our minds what t' do--if we have any time t' talk about it," he
finished, in an undertone.
As we rode, the crimson-yellow reflection of burning prairies began to
tint the eastern sky; once, from the crest of a hill, we saw the
wavering line of flame, rising and falling in beautiful undulations. And
presently we galloped across a mile or two of level grassland and pulled
up on the very brink of Sage Creek canyon.
"Easy, easy, from here on," Piegan whispered caution. "We may be right
above 'em, for all we know. We hit it a little too high up. How far
d'yuh reckon it is t' the mouth, Mac?"
"Not more than half a mile," MacRae returned. "We're not far out. I know
where there's a good place to get down."
We turned sharply to the right, coming out on a narrow point. Without
mishap we reached the foot of the steep hill. At the bottom the wind was
almost wholly shut off, so that sounds were easier to distinguish. The
moon had passed its zenith long since, and half of the flat lay in dense
shadow. Beyond the shadow a pall of smoke lay over everything, a
shifting haze that made objects near at hand indefinite of outline,
impossible to classify at a glance.
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