“Not much of a meal,” said Slim, “but it puts a little more stiffening in my back.”
Chuck nodded, looking thoughtfully at his saddle.
“Tell you what. I’m going to cache my saddle. I don’t think we’ll make it to the bottom of the trail tonight if we don’t. Once rid of the saddles we’ll be able to walk a lot faster and it will ease the strain on our feet.”
Slim looked down at his boots. The morning’s walk over the uneven ground had done them little good. The soles had been gouged by sharp rocks and the heels were wearing off at a crazy angle. By the end of the day he would have to discard his expensive boots for he doubted if even the most expert cobbler would possess the skill to repair them.
“Guess you’re right,” he agreed. “I hate to leave my saddle, but I know I can’t carry it to the bottom of the trail tonight.”
Chuck looked at Slim sharply, each perplexed, perhaps a little alarmed, at the insistence of the other upon reaching the trail’s end by sundown.
Slim washed the coffee grounds out of the pot and then placed the battered tin pot and the remaining coffee in his blanket roll.
“There’s a little draw off to the left and across the creek that ought to be a good place to leave our saddles,” said Chuck.
They tossed the saddles across the creek and then jumped after them. A thicket in the draw which Chuck had pointed out proved ideal for a cache. They returned to the other side of the creek and slung their blanket rolls over their shoulders.
Both cowboys had unfastened their rifle scabbards from their saddles, and they carried these in their right hands, the butts of the guns protruding from the leather case.