But Lightning snorted disdainfully, drank deeply, and returned to graze again.
The cool water refreshed Slim greatly and he set about the task of preparing his evening meal. There was still a half hour of daylight, but he had been in the saddle at sun-up and, toughened though he was to the life of the range, the heat had tired him. He was ready to roll into his blanket as soon as he finished his meal.
There was plenty of dry wood in the patch of timber and Slim soon had a small, smokeless fire going. Plenty of bacon, bread that now was none too fresh, and a small pot of coffee completed food for supper.
Slim had just finished turning the bacon to a crisp, delicious brown, and the coffee was simmering in the coals when a rifle shot echoed from below.
The cowboy paused, bacon halfway between his tin plate and his mouth. There was another shot, followed by a fusillade. Slim heard the sudden scream of pain of a mortally wounded horse and he finished the bacon in one gulp.
“Lightning!” he called.
The sorrel, now a hundred yards away, heard the cry and came at a full gallop.
Slim leaped across the campfire and dove into the small pile of duffel beside his saddle. From a saddlebag he drew a cartridge belt and holster. This he buckled swiftly around his waist, pausing only long enough to make sure that the heavy .38 in the holster was free.
From a boot fastened to the saddle he drew a Winchester 30-30. A glance told him that the magazine was full and he swung an extra belt of ammunition over his shoulder.
The firing down below was coming steadily. There was no time to saddle and Slim leaped upon Lightning and went dashing down the Sky High trail.