“It’s a stand-off,” countered the potential herd-rider. “I feel the same way about leaving you to hold the fort alone. If that Leadville outfit should turn up while I’m away——”
“Don’t you worry about the Neighbors bunch. It’s been three full weeks, now, with no sign of them. They’ve lost out.”
“I’m not so sure of that. Better keep your eye peeled and not get too far away from the cabin. If they should drop in on you——”
“In that case I’ll man the battlements and do my small endeavors to keep them amused until you put in an appearance,” was the lighthearted rejoinder. “But you needn’t run your legs off on that account. They’ve given us up long ago.” Then, as Philip mounted and took the halter of the horse that was to be led: “Are you all set? Where’s that old pistol?”
“I don’t need the pistol. If I’ve got to walk back, lugging my own grub and blankets, I don’t want to carry any more weight than I have to.”
“Just the same, you’re going prepared to back your judgment,” Bromley insisted; and he brought out the holstered revolver and made Philip buckle it on. “There; that looks a little more shipshape,” he approved. “Want me to go along a piece and help you start the herd?”
“Nothing of the kind,” Philip refused; and thereupon he set out, leading the extra horse and driving the jacks ahead of him.
It was his intention to back-track over the trail by which they had first penetrated to their valley in the late summer, and being gifted with a fairly good sense of direction, he found his way to the foot of the first of the two enclosing mountain ranges without much trouble. But on the ascent to the pass the difficulties multiplied themselves irritatingly. The trail was blind and the snow was fetlock deep for the animals. The led horse was stubborn and hung back; and wherever a widening of the trail permitted, the jacks strayed and scattered. Philip’s temper grew short, and by the time he had reached the high, wind-blown, boulder-strewn notch which served as the pass over the spur range, he was cursing the scattering burros fluently and fingering the butt of the big revolver in an itching desire to bullet all three of them.
“Damn your fool hides!” he was yelling, oblivious of everything but the maddening impossibility of towing the reluctant bronco astern and at the same time keeping the long-eared stupidities ahead in any kind of marching order; “Damn your fool——”
He stopped short, swallowing the remainder of the shouting malediction and flushing shamefacedly under his summer coat of tan. Seated beside the trail on a flat-topped boulder from which the snow had been brushed was a thick-chested, bearded giant of a man making his much-belated midday meal on a sandwich of pan-bread and bacon; a grinning witness of the outbreak of ill-temper. As Philip drew rein the giant greeted him jovially.