“Have they gone?” questioned the Overlanders in chorus.
“I reckon they knowed what was good for ’em, so they skedaddled,” replied Jim.
“Which way an’ whar did they go?” demanded Sam.
“West! How do I know whar they went?”
“If you was half a man you would know. You ain’t no more ’count, an’ not half so much use, as that tarnation mule that carries yer pack. But it ain’t your fault, an’ I reckon I oughter not set so much store by you. A feller can’t be blamed much because he was borned with half a teaspoonful of brains in his haid,” raged Sam.
“I s’pose ye think you an’ that mule of yourn has all the brains in this heah outfit. Wal, I reckon you’re part right ’cause you an’ the mule has got some brains, but when the Lord made ye he got you two mixed. He thought you was the mule, so he give you the mule’s brains an’ the mule got yourn. I reckon—”
“Oh, shet up, will ye?” snarled Sam savagely, tugging viciously at his whiskers, while a gale of laughter swept over the Overland Riders. Jim and Sam did not speak to each other again that night, but glared as they met in their prowling about in ceaseless vigil of the camp.
The next morning found the guides still deadly enemies, but after breakfast Emma cleared the clouds away by making a disparaging remark about Jim to Sam, whereupon Sam promptly came to the defense of his partner, and Jim heard it.
A late start was made, the guides having informed their charges that they were only a few hours’ ride from Old Joe Bindloss’s “Circle O” ranch. An hour after the start they again discovered what they believed to be their mysterious horseman, but he disappeared shortly after luncheon and was seen no more, and the Overland Riders, making a sharp turn to the right, now headed towards the purple haze behind which lay the foothills and the mountains of the Coso range, where adventure awaited them.