“I’ll ride back across the Cajons by another trail I know they won’t be watching, get another horse for you, buy boots for both of you, clothes for Chuck and bring back a pair of hair clippers.”
“While you’re worrying so much about me, what about Slim and Lightning?” Chuck wanted to know.
“They never saw Slim in the daylight and I’ll get a little dye while I’m on the other side and we’ll make Lightning a solid sorrel. That ought to fool them.”
“Better buy me a saddle,” suggested Slim. “My own outfit looks too good for a wandering cowboy.”
“One thing,” grinned Chuck, “we’ll have a couple of days to rest here and let the swelling in our feet go down.”
“That suits me,” agreed Slim. “My main worry was getting Lightning back.”
They talked a few more minutes, then rolled into their blankets as the fire died down. The moon, coming up over the Cajons, looked down on the sleeping camp, and swung on toward the west.
Chapter Eight
The Vanishing Camp
They were out of their blankets at sunup, for Old Bill had a long ride ahead of him.
“Better let one of us make the trip,” suggested Slim.