Dunbar’s mind was running on Perry—as was quite natural, in the circumstances.
“Red Steve decoyed Perry away from the ranch,” said Dunbar, “and got him to leave without telling Hattie, or any of your pards, Buffalo Bill, where he was going. It was my trouble that was getting Dick away—and the whelps downed him in the trail, and by now must have him at Crowder’s corral. If we can save Dick, well and good; if we can’t, I’ll camp on Red Steve’s trail, and stay there until I get him or he gets me, one or t’other.”
“If I get a good chance,” cried Wild Bill, “I’ll camp on Red Steve’s trail myself, just on account of Ace Hawkins. Hawkins, while he was with Steve’s gang, was playing a part, same as I was. He did it well, too; so well that he fooled me. But, talking of snakes, that Jerry Benner is the most venomous rattler loose in this cattle country. Lige can’t hold a candle to him.”
The horses were none too fresh, especially Beeswax; but they stretched themselves gallantly to their work. Dunbar set the pace. The scout had brought Bloom’s rifle with him. He had taken it from the jail, in order to be on the safe side; and when the start for Crowder’s corral was made it seemed good business to keep the gun in hand against possible emergencies.
After two hours of rapid travel, the three riders topped a “rise” that gave them a distant view of the Brazos.
“Over there,” announced Dunbar, pointing with his quirt, “is Crowder’s corral.”
CHAPTER XXI.
LONG ODDS.
The Brazos River, along this part of its course, flowed through bluffy country. Here and there the low bluffs gave way to show the river, sparkling in between.
The old corral came distinctly into view at about the time a wave of stampeding cattle rolled down toward the plain out of the mouth of one of the gullies in the bluffs.
Buffalo Bill shifted his eyes from the log walls of the corral to the rushing tide of steers.