“Do yuh think yuh can stand it to walk to yore ranch, or will yuh wait here until I can get there and bring a horse?” he asked.
“I’ll walk. I can spend the rest of my life resting. But I’ll never close my eyes without seeing that cliff man’s ladder. I get weak all over when I think about it. That last ten feet was a nightmare.”
“It shore twisted my nerves,” laughed Cultus, “and I hope I’ll never have to do a thing like that again. Can yuh imagine the nerve of the man who cut them niches? Climb two and cut two, all the way to the top.”
They started toward the entrance to the canyon, limping along, avoiding the heavier brush. Suddenly Cultus halted and grasped Jane by the arm. Just in front of them, not fifty feet away, a man was mounting a horse; a tall, gray, ghost-like animal in the moonlight. It reared with him, as he managed to scramble on its back, and whirled wildly.
It was then that Cultus whistled a shrill note; the same note he had whistled at the Circle M the day he wanted to prove ownership of the tall gray animal.
The gray lunged wickedly, and the rider went sprawling in some low bush. Again came the shrill note, and the tall gray threw up its head, circling nervously. The rider gained his feet, and it must have been that he saw Cultus and Jane, because he scuttled down through the brush like a frightened rabbit.
“Amigo!” called Cultus sharply, and the gray horse came toward them, treading cautiously.
“Hello, compadre,” said Cultus, and the horse came willingly now. He came up close to Cultus, muzzling at him.
“Your horse?” queried Jane wonderingly. “The horse you had stolen from you?”
“This is Amigo, Jane; the horse of horses.”