He paused with a lifted hand as he heard the drumming of hoofs, and Prescott laughed.
“That’s so. I believe you’ll have a police trooper here in the next few minutes. Your horse is still saddled?”
“Yes; I’ve just come back from Gillom’s.”
“Then get up and ride for the settlement. Mail an order for some harness or anything useful to Regina by the night train, when you get there; you can let Svendsen have the bill. You had better go pretty fast and keep ahead of the trooper as long as you can. I guess you understand.”
“Sure,” grinned the other, and getting into the saddle, rode away at a smart trot, while Prescott dismounted and led his horse quietly toward the nearest bluff.
On reaching it he stopped and, listening carefully, heard the rancher riding down the trail to Sebastian, and another beat of hoofs that grew rapidly louder. By and by he made out a dim mounted figure that pressed on fast across the shadowy waste, and for a few anxious moments wondered whether the policeman would call at the house and discover its owner’s absence. He passed on, however, and was presently lost in the darkness. When the drumming of his horse’s hoofs gradually died away, Prescott mounted and rode hard toward the north. It would, he thought, be an hour or two before the trooper found out his mistake; the rancher would not betray him, and there was a prospect of his getting clear away.