Frank shot him a look.
"I have no intention of giving it up," he said. "But I confess that I made one bad mistake."
"What was that?"
"I left Crowfoot back there in Schlitzenheimer's saloon playing poker."
"You think he'll be skinned, do you?" said Bart.
"Oh, I'm not worrying about that. The old reprobate can take care of himself. I knew it would be almost impossible to drag him away from that game, and that was why I did not bother with him. Didn't want to lose the time. But that redskin can follow a trail that would bother a bloodhound. If we had taken him at the start, he'd never lost the scent."
They lay on the ground and watched the heavens fill with bright stars. The heat of the day melted into coolness, and all knew it would be cold before morning.
Frank had anticipated that they might have to spend the night in this manner, and blankets had been brought.
They seemed alone in the wild waste, with no living thing save their horses within miles and miles. So, with no fear of attack, they wrapped their blankets about them and slept.