“How many more miles to the bottom of the trail?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly. I’d say we’ve covered about four miles since leaving camp. It must be 23 or 24 more.”
“I’ll never make it.”
“I’ve got to be at the foot of the trail tonight,” said Slim.
“I’m supposed to be,” admitted Chuck, “but I’ve serious doubts if my ‘dogs’ will hold out for better than 20 miles.”
“We’d better keep pounding along. Another hour and we’ll stop and make a pot of coffee and find a creek where we can soak our feet for awhile.”
“Good idea. Mine feel like they’re burning up right now.”
Shouldering their saddles, they set off down the trail. The grade was easing now. There was more timber but the grass was still scarce.
“Not much grazing land here,” commented Chuck.
“No. That’s up in the Creeping Shadows country. I’ve never been there but I’ve heard there’s some of the best grass in Wyoming in that valley.”