Yet within the heart of every man there was a fierce, unconquerable purpose—to find the jailbirds and to “polish ’em off.”
CHAPTER XV
An Unexpected Clew
The trail to Thunder Canyon lay through a region noted for its treacherous footings and short, stubby clumps of mesquit grass that might conceal a hole just deep enough to break a pony’s leg.
Swinging from the road, the riders entered this desolate tract and proceeded up a gentle slope, dotted here and there with trees burned almost leafless by summer suns. Here the land lay pitifully open to the brazen sky, long since beaten into submission and now venturing only half-heartedly to produce any protective vegetation. This was a land of exile, shunned and avoided by the surrounding territory. It was a field apart.
A dull haze covered the sun as the punchers rode stolidly on. Teddy turned to glance at his brother, who was loping along in the rear.
“Making the grade, Roy?” he called, and threw his head slightly to one side. Roy correctly interpreted the motion, and urged his pony until he was close to Teddy.
“How did that story we heard strike you?” Teddy asked, looking about him to see that no one was listening. The noise of creaking saddles and the beat of the horses’ feet on the baked earth prevented the boy’s voice from carrying far.
“Ike Natick’s?” Roy countered.
“Don’t know his name. The puncher who came over with Bug Eye.”