"How far is the hut from here, Pringle?" asked Matt.
"Twenty-five miles, I should say, at a rough guess," was the answer. "We'll cross the railroad in another mile, and after that you'd better look for buzz-wagon tracks in the dust. If you see any, then you can bank heavy that Hank and Spang are ahead of you."
"Couldn't they go the other road?"
"They could, but they wouldn't. They'd make a nice picture running through town, Hank with a gun at the driver's head, wouldn't they? Nix. They'll keep in the background as much as they can—and this road is pretty well back. They don't want to be seen by anybody but us, just now, Hank and Spang don't."
"Does this road run into the Ash Fork trail?"
"Yep—a mile t'other side of the hut. The hut's between the two roads, close to this and not so close to the other. If the hut had been closer to the other road, maybe Hank, Spang, and I would have heard Denny when he cut loose from us with this car."
The Red Flier descended a slope just then, crossed the railroad-track, and climbed another slope beyond.
Matt was worrying about the other car. There were no tracks in the road, so it was certain the runabout hadn't passed that way as yet, but there was plenty of time for it to reach the road and catch up with the Red Flier.
The one thing to do was to travel at speed, forestalling possible interference from Hank and Spang by getting well ahead of them.
During the rest of the trip, which Matt made at the top gait, no travelers or vehicles were met. The twenty-five miles were covered in thirty minutes, and when Pringle called on Matt to stop, he brought the Red Flier to a standstill at a place where the hills rose steeply on each side of the trail.