The worn trail still led him down grade, though the pitch was not so severe as it had been higher up; however, he did not realize the distance he was from timber when he came upon fresh horse tracks. They had ridden up to that point at a walk; they had stopped there, and when they went on they had swerved to the right and ridden for the hills with horses at a gallop.
Bayard read the tell-tale signs in an instant, wheeled, looked up at the abrupt slopes above him and cried,
"He's gone around for some reason ... in a hurry.... To come into camp from behind!"
And trembling at thought of what might be happening back there in the cabin, he started up the trail, running laboriously against the steep rise of the hill.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIGHT
Bayard had guessed rightly. After miles of silent riding Lytton had pulled his horse up with a jerk, had laid a hand on Ann's bridle and checked her pony with another wrench.
"Who's that?" he growled, staring at Bayard.
She had looked at the distant horse, floundering up the slope beyond them, recognized both Abe and his rider and had turned to stare at her husband with fear in her eyes.