In a twinkling he had tightened his cinch, caught up the reins, and vaulted into the saddle. His captive was at his side shortly afterward.
“You’re still in the lead,” Rathburn snapped out; “unless you want to wait for ’em.”
The other whirled his horse, sent him flying for the western end of the pocket, with Rathburn close behind. They went up a steep, rocky trail, screened by boulders. When they reached the top of the west rim they looked back and saw four horsemen on the shale slope leading to the pocket. Brown evidently had split up his posse and was literally combing the hills for his quarry.
“They’ll know they’re on the right trail when they see the remains of our dinner an’ my pack down there,” remarked Rathburn dryly.
“But they haven’t seen us yet,” said Percy breathlessly. “If we can make Sunrise Cañon Trail we can lose ’em in the mountains––that is if you want to lose ’em.”
“Where’s the trail?” asked Rathburn.
“’Bout five miles west. It’s the only trail goin’ up into the big mountains between here an’ the other side of the Dry Lake range, an’ it’s a tough one.”
Rathburn quickly sized up the country ahead. He saw low and high ridges with towering mountains to the right, or north, of them. There were scattering pines on the slopes and patches of timber in the wide ravines, many of which were veritable valleys.
“We’ll run for it while they’re getting in an’ out of that hole,” he suddenly decided with a click of his teeth. “Their horses are in no better shape than ours. Slope along.”