Garth pushed his flap-brimmed hat to the back of his head and looked up.
“Thought yuh said a while back that this here was your trail—the one yuh made comin’ out with the cavoyard this mornin’.”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“Not by a jugful—not unless yuh was walking the hull caboodle of ’em back’ards.”
“What’s that?”
“Sure as shootin’. The critters that made this trail was goin’ the same way we are. Get down and take a squint for yerself.”
Philip was about to comply when he saw a spurt of red flame leap out in the up-valley distance, the flash followed quickly by the reverberating echoes of a rifle shot. At the flash and crash Garth leaped afoot with a growled-out imprecation and worked the lever of his repeating rifle to throw a cartridge into the chamber.
“That means business, son! They’ve called the turn on us and got yer pardner in the nine-hole! Limber up that old hoss-pistol o’ yourn and p’int the way to get into your gulch without bustin’ in at the front door. That’s our chance—if we’ve got any. Jump to it!”
VIII
Fairly benumbed by the shock of the discovery that a battle for the possession of the “Little Jean” was actually in progress, Philip pointed to the right up a steep ravine.