The other had dug in his spurs even before he got the order. They rode swiftly down the steep trail from the rim of the pocket and fled across an open space and up the slope of the first ridge.
Rathburn looked back as they crossed it, but could see no sign of their pursuers. His face still was troubled; his gaze kept boring into the back of the man on the horse ahead of him. At times he muttered to himself.
They galloped up the hard bed of a dry arroyo and swung westward across another rock-bound ridge, picking their way carefully among the boulders. Rathburn’s face became more and more strained as he noted that the leader evidently knew the country they were in like a book. Rathburn, with the experience born of years spent in the open places, was able to keep his bearings.
They had followed a course for some miles north of the main trail leading east, the trail by which he had first come into the locality. Then they had doubled back westward, some miles above that trail, of course, and now were heading almost due 54 north again, in the direction of the mountains which did not appear to be far away. He surmised that they were nearly directly north of the ranch where he had had the meal with the girl and boy.
At the top of the next ridge his guide pointed above them.
“See that crack in the mountain?” he said.
Rathburn nodded as he made out what appeared to be a gash in the steep side of a mountain north of them.
“That’s Sunrise Cañon,” said the other quietly. “There’s a trail up that cañon into the heart of the mountains where they couldn’t catch us––or you, if you want to go alone––in a hundred years!”
He stared steadily at Rathburn.
“Mosey along, then,” said Rathburn. “Let’s get somewheres before our horses drop.”