CHAPTER V
BOUND FOR THE SOUTHERN TRAIL
Three uniformed men rode hard across the tawny plains. They rode abreast. Their horses were a-lather; their lean sides tuckered, but their gait remained unslackening. It was a gait they would keep as long as daylight lasted.
Sergeant McBain’s horse kept its nose just ahead of the others. It was as though the big, rawboned animal appreciated its rider’s rank.
Quite abruptly the non-commissioned officer raised an arm and pointed.
“Yon’s the Cypress Hills, boys,” he cried. “See, they’re getting up out of the heat haze on the skyline. We’re heading too far south.”
He spoke without for a moment withdrawing the steady gaze of his hard blue eyes.
One of the troopers answered him.
“Sure, sergeant,” he agreed. “We need to head away to the left.”