With the burden of their saddles gone and their feet rested, they set out down the trail again. The blinding heat of midday was upon them, but they dared not tarry longer beside the creek.
Heads down and shoulders hunched, they plodded along the trail. Hoofprints of three horses were still plainly visible for the men who had stolen Lightning had ridden down the trail at a fast pace.
“Makes me boil inside every time I think of my being set afoot,” snorted Chuck. “Maybe I’ll take a little time off and hunt around for the boys who did me dirt. With the souvenir you left on that one chap’s arm, they shouldn’t be so hard to find.”
They swung around a bend in the trail and came upon the ashes of a recent campfire. Slim placed his hand in the ashes. They were cold.
“The horses were staked out and hobbled over here,” called out Chuck. “Too bad we didn’t slip down the trail last night and take them by surprise.”
“It’s easy to think of those things now,” grinned Slim as he picked up a handkerchief which was covered with brown stains. “I don’t imagine one of them passed a very comfortable night.”
In midafternoon they paused beside another mountain stream to rest and bathe their weary feet.
“My ‘dogs’ look like they are going to explode,” said Chuck as he wiggled his toes in the cool water.
Slim, stretched on the bank beside him, nodded. He was wondering if they would be able to maintain their pace and make the bottom of the trail that night. He didn’t want to disappoint Bill Needham, for the old cattleman had written that he was counting on him.
“My stomach and backbone are so close together I’m afraid they’ll form a union and strike on me,” grumbled Chuck, “unless I put some food inside me quick.”