THE BLUEBELL.
The two boys got out of sight in a swale before the cowboy returned from the spring. Looking back, just before they dropped from view of the jacal, they were unable to see anything of the man.
Taking Matt's arm, Clipperton drew him along the swale, then over the western bank of it and into a shallow valley between two low hills.
"It's nearly two o'clock," Clipperton was muttering. "Twenty miles—four o'clock. We'll get a horse at the Bluebell. You can make it if you ride."
"Where did you come from, Clipperton?" asked Matt.
"Phœnix."
"How did you come?"
"On foot. Didn't dare look for a horse. Afraid they'd find out and stop me."
Matt halted and laid a hand on Clipperton's arm.
"Did you come out here, all the way from Phœnix, on foot, to help me?" he asked quietly.