CHAPTER XI
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
In less than an hour Buck and his party were assured that they had nothing to fear from any trailing Circle Bar riders. They rode through the hills and gained the farther slopes of the divide, with the rolling river flat beyond.
Here Buck drew rein, pointing.
There was no need for words, although Jake Harper, with recovered vocabulary, spilled pardonable curses upon the air. To the-north was ascending a stream of heavy smoke that rose straight into the windless sky.
“They done it,” said Sandy Davitt briefly.
“Two of you boys stay here with Jake,” ordered Buck to his five. “If you don’t get no word from me by dark, turn Jake loose and make your getaway. If I win, I’ll send word to ye ’fore dark.”
Nobody wanted to remain, so straws were pulled. The losers, disgruntled, took over the prisoner’s bridle and sat their horses while Buck, Sandy Davitt, and the remaining two men rode on.
“Good luck!” they called. Buck responded with a wave of his white Stetson.
The four men who were left in company now pushed their horses ahead at a good clip. Two miles away was the river trail, which Arnold and Sam Fisher would follow, provided they did the expected thing.