When he had reached the summit he swung to the right, dipped abruptly into a narrow gulch, skirted a clump of junipers, and looked down upon a little basin hidden snugly in the gorge. A wisp of pungent smoke rose to his nostrils. The pony began cautiously the sharp descent. The escarpment was of disintegrated granite which rang beneath the hoofs of the animal. A pebble rolled to the edge of the bluff and dropped into the black pit below.
From the gulf a challenging voice rose. "Hello, up there!"
"It's me—Joe," answered the rider.
"Time you were gettin' here," growled the other, as yet only a voice in the darkness.
Slowly the horse slid forward to a ribbon of trail that led less precipitously to the camp.
"'Lo, Joe. Fall off an' rest," a one-armed man invited. By the light of the camp-fire he was a hard-faced, wall-eyed citizen with a jaw like a steel trap.
Yankie dismounted and straddled to the fire. "How-how; I'm heap hungry, boys. Haven't et since mornin'."
"We're 'most out of grub. Got nothin' but jerked beef an' hard-tack. How are things a-stackin', Joe?" asked a heavy-set, bow-legged man with a cold, fishy eye.
"Looks good, Dave. I'll lead the cattle to you. It'll be up to you an'
Albeen an' Dumont to make a get-away with 'em."
"Don't you worry none about that. Once I get these beeves on the trail there can't no shorthorn cattleman take 'em away from me."