He was worn out by the long ride of the day, the adventure in the boulder-strewn wash below and the mental grief of having lost Lightning. But sleep did not come at once.
Why had Chuck been ambushed? His thoughts centered on the letter in his own shirt and the one that Chuck had dropped. Both were from Bill Needham. Could they be on the same mysterious mission, could both be answering a sudden call from the old cattleman?
Chapter Five
The Unknown Rider
Slim slept restlessly that night, his mind disturbed by the grief and worry over the loss of his horse. He was awake with the first rosy tint in the sky above the Cajons.
Chuck was still sleeping soundly and Slim, barefooted, walked quietly down to the creek where he washed his face and hands. They had used up the supply of wood gathered the night before and he picked up an armful of dry sticks before returning to the camp.
Chuck was awake and stretching lazily when Slim dropped the wood beside the dead ashes.
“Going to be a great day for walking,” said the Circle Four cowboy as he pulled on his boots.
“Not for my feet after the beating I gave them running around over the rocks in my stocking feet,” said Slim.
While Chuck was at the creek washing, Slim started the fire and checked over their supplies. There was enough bacon for the morning meal and four slices of bread that were so dry they now resembled hardtack. Not much food for a couple of hungry cowpunchers.
“We’re short of grub,” he informed Chuck.