“Here’s where we part. I’m going left and out beyond the Cajons by the old trail. You boys take the way to the right. It’s a good day’s ride to Dirty Water and unless I miss my guess, that’s where you’ll find the rustlers. I’m counting on you boys to turn them up for us. When you need me you can send a telegram from the railroad station at Mopstick. That’s outside the valley, but it’s the nearest telegraph office. Good luck.”
Old Bill gave each of them a firm, warm handclasp that conveyed more than words, swung his horse around sharply, and moved briskly down the left fork of the trail.
Chuck and Slim watched him until a clump of aspen hid him from view. Then they spoke to their own horses and turned onto the trail that led to the Creeping Shadows.
The cowboy detectives rode at a steady pace that ate up miles on the long down trail into the valley.
Through midday the sun burned down on them unmercifully, but they paused at noon only long enough to water their horses.
Slim rode in the lead, little spurts of dust leaping up around Lightning’s hoofs. The Flying Arrow rider kept his head bowed to shield his face from the burning rays of the sun.
They left the foothills and entered the Creeping Shadows country, a broad, rolling land that was sheltered between the Cajons on the east and south and the mighty Three Soldiers range which reared its peaks in the west.
Streams tumbling down the sides of the ranges converged in the valley and assured the cattlemen there of plenty of water. There was ample timber and the grass was lush and long, though now burned badly by the long drought. It was a cattleman’s paradise and Slim, as he appraised the worth of the valley, could realize why rustlers would make a bold bid to steal the possessions of Adam Marks and take the valley for their own.
Lightning seemed to sense her rider’s thoughts for she paused at the crest of a knoll as though to give Slim a better chance to view the country which unfolded before him.
Chuck, his clothes heavy with dust, reined in beside Slim.