Out we went. No time was to be lost. They even had saddled them—Fitz working with his one hand! So all we must do was to climb on. The women had told us the trail, and they had given us an old heavy coat apiece. Nights are cold, in the mountains.
"You know how, do you?" queried Fitz of me.
"Yes."
"That gray horse is the easiest," called one of the women, from the door.
"Let Jim take it, then," spoke Van.
But I had got ahead of him by grabbing the bay.
"Jim is used to riding," explained Fitz.
"So am I," answered Van.
"Not these saddles, Van," put in Ward. "They're different. The stirrups of the gray are longer, a little. They'll fit you better than they'll fit Jim."
Van had to keep the gray. It didn't matter to me which horse I rode, and it might to him from the East; so I was glad if the gray was the easier.