Anton knew the trails of the district like a memorized map, and he gave The Kid detailed instructions. By following the mountain chain to the westward he would reach a dry wash that would lead him to a point within sight of Goliday's hacienda.
"Still set on it?"
The Kid nodded. "Adios! Yuh'll probably get through to the S Bar in good time. Good-by, Harry."
"Good luck!" they shouted after him.
At the crest of a mesquite-dotted swell of white sand, several hours later, The Kid paused to look over the situation that confronted him.
Ahead of him, to the westward, were the buildings of the Goliday ranch. Strangely enough, there was no sign of life around it—save for the horses in the large corral and the cattle meandering about the water hole.
Was the entire ranch personnel in San Felipe? Impossible! And yet he had seen no one. The Kid hoped that Goliday was not in town.
A desert wash led its twisting way to one side of him, and he saw that by following its course he could reach the trees about the water hole unobserved.
"Easy, Blizzahd," he said softly.
The sand deadened the sound of the big white horse's hoofs as it took the dry wash at a speedy clip. Kid Wolf crouched low, so that his body would not show above the edge of the wash. At the water hole he drew up in the shelter of a cottonwood to listen. His ears had caught a succession of steady, measured sounds. They came from one of the small adobe outbuildings. Inside, some one was hammering leather. This was the ranch's saddle shop evidently.