Everyone knows how deceptive distance is in the clear air of the plains. Objects that appear but a few miles away prove to be two and three times as far. Herbert Watrous had been long enough in Texas to learn this fact. The range that he had noticed the afternoon before seemed to be within half a day’s ride, but he was convinced it would require brisk traveling to reach it by sunset.
Then, too, the plan he had fixed upon forced him to keep a long way to the rear, so that, if the horsemen struck the other range by set of sun, the night would be well along before he could come up with them. There was no moon to help him, and this might interfere with his programme.
But, as may be said, he had put his hand to the plough and did not look back.
Contrary, however, to the maxim, this was an unfortunate mistake on his part; for, had he, after riding the major part of the distance, turned in his saddle and surveyed the course traversed, he would have made an important discovery, and one, too, that must have had an important bearing on the almost hopeless enterprise in which he was engaged.
But Herbert’s interest was all in front. Nick Ribsam was in the power of his enemies, and possibly he could aid him, though common sense told him that the chances were as ninety-nine to one that he would end the business by putting himself in the same hole. A party of desperate men that were cunning enough to make the sagacious Nick prisoner were not likely to be annoyed by anything Herbert Watrous could do to checkmate them; but youth is ardent and hopeful, and none of these things weakened the pursuit of the New Yorker.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE SECOND RANGE OF HILLS.