"Saddle your own horse," she cried, running to his side. "I'll attend to mine."
"You stuff all the papers back in the sack. That's yore job. Hustle, now. I'll get you out of this. Don't worry."
"I'm not worrying—not a worry," she said, cheerfully, both hands busy with Luke Tweezy's papers. "I'd like to know how they picked up the trail after our riding up that creek for six miles."
"I dunno," said he, his head under an upflung saddle-fender. "I shore thought we'd lost 'em."
She stopped tying the sack and looked at him. "How silly we are!" she cried. "All we have to do is show these two letters to the posse an'—"
"S'pose now the posse is led by Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley," said he, not ceasing to pass the cinch strap.
Her face fell. "I never thought of that," she admitted. "But there must be some honest men in the bunch."
"It takes a whole lot to convince an honest man when he's part of a posse," Racey declared, reaching for the bran sack. "They don't stop to reason, a posse don't, and this lot of Marysville gents wouldn't give us time to explain these two letters, and before they got us back to town, the two letters would disappear, and then where would we be? We'd be in jail, and like to stay awhile."
"Let's get out of here," exclaimed Molly, crawling her horse even quicker than Racey did his.
Racey led the way along the mountain side for three or four miles. Most of the time they rode at a gallop and all the time they took care to keep under cover of the trees. This necessitated frequent zigzags, for the trees grew sparsely in spots.