“He’s certain a mighty smart un,” commented the stage driver. “I was tur’ble oneasy as I driv up ter ther cañon, but I’d ’a’ been throwin’ fits ef I had guessed thet Benson was the little gent ridin’ in my hearse.”
“Benson knew that the town and the trails were watched and covered, so he had to make use of some scheme to get out at all; and, of course, he wanted to get out,” said the scout. “I wonder where he will go now?”
“Could we trail him?” asked the man from Laramie.
“That’s to be settled, after we try it.”
“Then you mean to try it?”
“I certainly shall do everything to keep him from getting out of the country. After he leaves this rocky section and puts his foot on softer ground he has got to make a trail, and I see no reason why we can’t find it and follow him. It will take time; but if no rain comes to wash out his tracks, we can do it.”
“No rain in sight now,” said Nomad. “Et don’t rain down in this kentry enough ter make a man reckle’t what a good rain seems like.”
A sound came from the direction of the horses, that the stage driver had tied to the tree.
“Wow!” he howled. “They’ve broke that hitchin’ strap, and thar they go, cuss ’em!”