“I’m a mite out of condition,” he admitted. “A couple of days on the trail, and my muscles will be okay again. Most of my trouble today came from having the wrong kind of shoes.”
“A mountain can give a fellow quite a beating,” was Warner’s only comment.
After an hour of rest, Walz regained his strength. With reviving zest for the Headless Hollow adventure, he began to press Warner for a decision.
The rancher regarded him in surprise. “Haven’t the mountains given you your answer?”
“That jaunt we took was no fair test! Once I get better equipment—”
“Headless Valley is no place for an amateur,” Warner told him. “If you’re dead set on going there, Pete Ranier might take you. I doubt it, though. You’d be asking for trouble.”
“At least show me the map.”
The rancher hesitated. Then, apparently deciding his guest could make no practical use of it, he unlocked the paper from the desk drawer. Eagerly, Walz pored over it, his dark eyes sparkling.
“Let me make a copy of this!” he demanded.
Warner had begun to regret even showing the paper to the motel owner.