"Why not?"
"Because he's got a valuable package of letters and mining documents addressed to Mr. Argent of that place. He wouldn't go there."
"I don't know," returned the marshal. "He wouldn't stay there, but he might go through that way."
It did not take long to organize two posses, and Jack went with the one led by the marshal. The young express rider bestrode a borrowed steed, and though it was good enough, as horses go, it was not at all like his beloved Sunger.
"I wonder if I'll ever get him back," mused the lad, as he trotted along beside the others.
"A measly horse thief!" muttered the marshal. "We'll get him if it takes a year."
In the West horse-stealing is a crime almost on a par with killing; for out there a man's life often depends on his horse, and if a thief takes the horse away he may also be responsible for the death of the man. That is why horse-stealing is visited with such swift and sure vengeance when the culprit is caught.
Since there was a moon that night, there was fairly good light to see to follow the mountain trails. The robber had not much of a start, but he was riding Jack's fleet pony, and that, in itself, meant a great deal, for there were few horses in that part of the country who could distance him.
Over the trails they rode, and, as they went, the hope of soon catching the robber grew less and less.
"I'm afraid he's escaped us all right," the marshal said, ruefully. "But we'll get him yet. I'll never let a horse thief get the best of me!"