"The fellow's gone and taken some provisions with him," he said. "He left this for us."
It was a strip of paper, apparently torn from a pocket-book, with a few lines written on it. Benson said he regretted having to leave them in such an unceremonious fashion, but they had given him no choice, and added that he would leave the horse, hobbled, at a spot about two days' ride away.
"He seems to think he's showing us some consideration in not riding the beast down to the settlement," Blake remarked with a dubious smile, feeling strongly annoyed with himself for not taking more precautions. With the cunning which the lust for drink breeds in its victims Benson had outwitted him by feigning acquiescence. "Anyhow," he added, "I'll have to go after him. We must have the horse, for one thing, but I suppose we'll lose four days. This is rough on you."
"Yes," agreed Harding, "you must get after him, but don't mind about me. The man's a friend of yours and I like him; he wasn't quite responsible last night. I wouldn't feel happy if we let him fall back into the clutches of that cunning brute. Now we'll get breakfast; you'll need it."
They made a hasty meal and during it Blake said, "If you don't mind waiting, I'll follow him half way to Sweetwater if necessary. You see I haven't much expectation of overtaking him before he leaves the horse. It's the faster beast and we don't know when he started."
"That's so," said Harding. "Still, you're tough, and I guess the first hard day's ride will be enough for your partner."
Five minutes later Blake was picking his way as fast as possible through the wood. It was a cool morning, and when he had gone a few miles the ground was fairly clear. By noon he was in more open country, where there were long stretches of grass, and after a short rest he pushed on fast. Bright sunshine flooded the waste that now stretched back to the south, sprinkled with clumps of bush that showed a shadowy blue in the distance. In those he passed the birch and poplar leaves glowed in flecks of vivid lemon among the white stems, but Blake rode hard, his eyes turned steadily on the misty skyline. It was only broken by clusters of small trees; nothing moved on the wilderness he pushed across.
He felt tired when evening came, but he must find water before he camped, and he pressed on. Benson was a weak fool, who would, no doubt, give them further trouble, but they had taken him in hand, and Blake had made up his mind to save him from the rogue who preyed upon his failings. It was getting late when he saw a faint trail of smoke curl up against the sky from a distant bluff, and on approaching it he checked the jaded pony. Later he dismounted and picketing the animal moved cautiously round the edge of the wood. Passing a projecting tongue of smaller brush, he saw, as he had expected, Benson sitting beside a fire, and stopped a moment to watch him. The man's face was weary, his pose was slack, and it was obvious that the life he had led had unfitted him for a long, hard ride. He looked forlorn and dejected, but he started as Blake moved forward and his eyes had an angry gleam.
"So you have overtaken me; I thought myself safe from you," he said.
"You were wrong," Blake replied. "If it had been needful, I'd have gone after you to Clarke's. But I'm hungry and I'll cook my supper at your fire." He glanced at the provisions scattered about. "You haven't had much of a meal."