Bartley drew on the moccasins and, tying his boots together, rolled them in his blanket. Meanwhile, Cheyenne circled the camp far out, examining the scattered tracks of horses. When he returned the morning sun was beginning to make itself felt.
"I'll toss up to see who wears the moccasins," said Bartley. "I'm more used to hiking than you are."
"Spin her!"
As Bartley tossed the coin, Cheyenne called. The half-dollar dropped and stuck edge-up in the sand.
"You wear 'em the first fifteen miles and then we'll swap," said Cheyenne.
Bartley filled the canteen and scraped dirt over the fire. Cheyenne took a last look around, and turned toward the south.
"You didn't say nothin' about headin' back to Antelope," said Cheyenne.
"Why, no. I started out to visit Senator Brown's ranch."
Cheyenne laughed. "Well, you're out to see the country, anyhow. We'll see lots, to-day."
Once more upon the road Cheyenne's manner changed. He seemed to ignore the fact that he was afoot, in country where there was little prospect of getting a lift from a passing rancher or freighter. And he said nothing about his horses, Filaree and Joshua, although Bartley knew that their loss must have hit him hard.