“Just enough bacon for breakfast and a snack of bread.”
“Might just as well start the day on a full stomach. We’ll need it. How’s the coffee?”
“Plenty of coffee, but it’s going to take us at least a day to reach the bottom of this trail.”
“Well, the coffee will help. We can drink that and think we’ve had a meal.”
By the time the sun was up, they had finished breakfast and were about the task of breaking their simple camp.
“What about your saddle?” Chuck asked.
“I’m going to tote it with me as far as I can. If it gets too heavy I’ll cache it along the way. Dad gave it to me and I’m not going to take any unnecessary chances of losing it.”
Slim made up his duffel roll and fastened it to his saddle. Then he paused to look around the camp and make sure nothing had been overlooked. Chuck, rifle in hand, was waiting for him.
Slim swung the heavy saddle on his back and they started down the Sky High trail. It was covered with a fair growth of grass, for in recent years it was used by only an occasional rider and the walking wouldn’t have been half bad in low heeled shoes. But riding boots, with their high heels, were never meant to pound along over a none too smooth trail. Slim knew that he would be in agony before the day was over.
They reached the rock strewn wash where Chuck had been ambushed and stopped while the Circle Four cowboy picked up his saddle. High above them a buzzard was circling. In a few short hours Chuck’s cayuse would be another skeleton along the trail, hinting at an unsolved mystery.