"Sam Kirby, eh?" The Countess' flaming rage had given place to a cool, calculating anger.
Pierce protested violently. "I hired those Indians. We agreed on a price and everything was settled."
"Well, Danny unsettled it. They're workin' for him and he intends to keep 'em."
"What about our white packers?" the woman inquired of Broad.
"They must have crossed before Danny caught up, or he'd have had them, too. 'Money no object,' he said. I'm danged if I'd turn a trick like that."
"Where's our stuff?"
"At the Crossing."
The Countess turned back down the trail and Pierce followed her. "I'll settle this Royal," he declared, furiously.
"Danny's a bad boy," Lucky Broad warned, falling into step. "If old Sam told him to hold a buzz-saw in his lap he'd do it. Maybe there wouldn't be much left of Danny, but he'd of hugged it some while he lasted."
Little more was said during the swift return to the river. It was not a pleasant journey, for the trail was miserable, the mud was deep, and there was a steady upward flow of traffic which it was necessary to stem. There were occasional interruptions to this stream, for here and there horses were down and a blockade had resulted. Behind it men lay propped against logs or tree-trunks, resting their tired frames and listening apathetically to the profanity of the horse-owners. Rarely did any one offer to lend a helping hand, for each man's task was equal to his strength. In one place a line of steers stood belly deep in the mire, waiting the command to plow forward.