Pomp, the dusky cook, had been dispatched to the house with the note so the ranch owner would know why they had left in such a hurry. Scotty, who had the fastest horse among the cowboys, was drawing gradually away from them.
“Take the short cut, Scotty,” Big Joe ordered him. “When you make the Gap if you hear heavy firing, don’t join Bud, but start blazing away at the halfbreed’s gang and draw their fire. When we get there we’ll open fire on them from a different direction and hem them in if we ain’t too late. Do you get me, Scotty?” he yelled after him.
“I sure do,” the answer floated back to them. Scotty was riding low in the saddle, jockey style. He was making the ride of his life.
Mason was in a fever of suspense. His horse seemed to be only crawling along.
“Do you think we will be able to head Bud off in time?” There was a catch to his voice as he put the question to Big Joe, who was riding near him.
“Bud has only got about an hour’s start on us, and with the short cut we’re taking I have hope of saving him. If Scotty follows my instructions, everything will go all right, but I am afraid he will attempt to join Bud and get wiped out along with the rest of them. He’s such a hot-headed chump that if he runs into the halfbreed’s gang before Bud’s men do, it would be just like him to tackle them singlehanded,” came the unpromising answer.
The cowboys had turned off the main trail and had struck into the first range of foothills. Here, the climbing was extremely difficult, and a false step or a loose stone would send man and beast to certain death.
They were following a trail leading up into the mountains on the brink of a deep gorge.
Once, Mason’s horse stumbled and he gave himself up for lost with a prayer on his lips, but the faithful animal caught a secure footing again, although he could feel the horse quiver under him.
“Close call, old top,” he said cheerfully to his horse, as he patted him on the neck.