"We'll see about that later," replied Jesse. "The question is, what direction shall we take? It won't do to go north, for we are liable to run into more of the troops. The fort is off in that direction, and they would be glad to see us.
"How about it, Bill? You know this country. Is there any place near here where we can lay up for a while and not get sold out—a good safe hang-out where the grub is plenty and not too many babblers around?"
Wild Bill considered the question carefully for a moment.
"I opine I could find such a shack," he answered with a grin. "I know a fellow who would take us in and be danged glad of the chance—"
"Is he all right?" demanded the desperado.
"Well, they'll all bear watchin', I reckon. He makes his living out of a stage coach now and then. When business is poor he catches a prospector or something of the sort. Guess he'll do though."
After long and laborious effort the outlaws succeeded in picking their way down the steep mountain side. Instead, however, of following on down the canyon toward its foot, they turned abruptly south, and the dawn was appearing in the eastern sky, when, foot-sore and weary, as well as ill-tempered, they finally ascended to the broad plateau to the west of the canyon, but as they looked across, nothing was to be seen of the Indian village where the stirring incidents of the previous day had occurred.
"Any almost-food places hereabouts, that you know of?" demanded Jesse of Wild Bill.
"No, but there's a ranch about two miles west of here. And the fellow used to have a fine bunch of Kentucky thoroughbreds. Probably stole them at that, but they were dandies—"
"Good. Me for the ranch," exclaimed the great desperado as the men settled down in a long lope with anticipations of a steaming breakfast at the end of their journey.