Jim followed the road until it branched off to join the Bear Creek trail. Here he deflected toward the mountains, taking the zigzag path that ran like a winding thread among the rocks as it mounted. Now for the first time there came to him the faint rhythmic sound of a galloping horse's hoofs. He did not stop, and as he picked his way among the rocks he heard for some time no more of it.
"Mr. Hurry-up-like-hell kept the road, I reckon," Jim ruminated aloud, and even as he spoke he caught again the echo of an iron shoe striking a rock.
He stopped and listened. Some one was climbing the trail behind him.
"Mebbe he's a friend, and then mebbe he isn't. We'll let him have the whole road to himself, eh, Keno?"
Yeager guided his pony to the left, and took up a position behind some huge bowlders from whence he could see without being seen. The pursuer toiled into sight, a slim, wiry youth on a buckskin. He came forward out of the shadows into the fretted moonlight.
Yeager gave a glad whoop of recognition. "Hi-yi, Phil!"
"You're there, are you? Did I scare you off the trail, Jim?"
"That's whatever, boy. What are you doing here?"
"Sis sent me. She got worried again, and we figured I'd better join you."
"I reckon there's nothing serious the matter. Still, it ain't like Larry to say he would come and then not show up."