“How about grub up there at the dam?” Scott asked. “I don’t know anything about the place and never thought about provisions last night.”
“Strange, not having anything else to think about,” Baxter commented sarcastically. “Better take along a few things from here to make sure, but the cabin up there is usually pretty well stocked, I think. If you are ready we better be going; we are not so likely to meet any one on the trail now.”
He threw such perishable provisions as he happened to have into a bag and started for the corral. Scott saw him pick his revolver up from the bench by the door and stick it into his holster.
It was just light enough to see when they started up the trail which led over the pass. They were nearly to the place where they were fighting the fire the day before when Baxter turned from the trail into the heavier timber.
“What’s the big scare now,” Scott asked looking curiously around.
“May not be anything in it,” Baxter replied, “but old Benny up there in the lookout tower has eyes like a hawk. If he sees anything moving within fifty miles he hauls out those old field glasses and identifies it. He might recognize you and spread the news all over the country. He is all right and would not tell any one if he knew why you were going, but he doesn’t know and has nothing to do but talk gossip over the ’phone.”
So they stuck to the hillside in spite of the rough going and managed to keep out of Benny’s sight.
“Now you are all right,” Baxter assured him. “This trail is not very good but you can follow it easy enough and it will lead you straight to the dam. There is not supposed to be any one up that way, but if you should see any one duck.”
“I suppose there is a telephone up there?” Scott asked.
“Yes, and you better listen in on every call you hear, because some of us may want to warn you, but don’t talk unless you are sure who it is. They might try to locate you that way.”