“Think you can recognize him?” asked Chuck as Slim slipped out of the saddle.
“Why it’s old Bill Needham!” exclaimed Slim. “What under the sun could he have been doing on Lightning?”
Old Bill, tall and powerful of frame, a typical cattleman of the old school, managed to raise his bruised body upon one elbow as he squinted angrily at the two cowboys looking down at him.
“What’s the idea of pulling a stunt like this on me?” he demanded. Then, recognizing Slim as the mists cleared from his ancient eyes, he added. “My gosh, Slim. I was just riding up trail looking for you when that horse of yours set off a stick of dynamite under my saddle. How did it all happen?”
“That’s what we want to know,” said Chuck. “There’s got to be a lot of explaining about some things that took place last night just this side of the divide.”
“Well, well, Chuck. I figured I’d find you somewhere along the trail, but hadn’t counted on you and Slim being together. Know each other pretty well?”
“We ought to. We’ve done better than twenty miles of hoofing it along this trail since sunup. My feet are just about killing me.” Chuck sat down and dragged off his boots, massaging the bottoms of his burning feet with his hands.
“Let’s hear the story, boys,” said Old Bill. “Tell me what happened last night and I’ll tell you how I happened to get hold of Lightning.”
Slim looked at Chuck.
“Everything happened this side of the divide and you were the first over the summit. Start the ball rolling.”