“There’s a little coffee left.”
“Then coffee it is,” said Chuck. He built a fire and brewed a bitter pot of beverage.
“What did you drop in this? The heel of one of your boots?” asked Slim as he sipped the black stuff.
“Don’t complain. It’s hot and it’s filling, which is the main thing.”
In spite of its poor taste, they downed the coffee, drew on their boots, picked up the rifles, and resumed the painful downward trip.
The sun was swinging well along toward the horizon and the country was flattening out. They had reached the foothills, but there was still no sign of human habitation. Coming out of a patch of timber, they looked down a long, broad valley, the grass of which had been burned out by the sun.
“I pity cattle trying to live off this stuff,” said Slim.
“Better pity us. If we don’t find something real to eat, we may have to take to grass.”
Chuck started down the trail again when Slim’s call stopped him.
“Wait a minute. There’s a horseman riding into the lower end of the valley.”