had Chuck been ambushed? His thoughts centered on the letter in his own shirt and the one that Chuck had dropped. Both were from Bill Needham. Could they be on the same mysterious mission, could both be answering a sudden call from the old cattleman?

Slim slept restlessly that night, his mind disturbed by the grief and worry over the loss of his horse. He was awake with the first rosy tint in the sky above the Cajons.

Chuck was still sleeping soundly and Slim, barefooted, walked quietly down to the creek where he washed his face and hands. They had used up the supply of wood gathered the night before and he picked up an armful of dry sticks before returning to the camp.

Chuck was awake and stretching lazily when Slim dropped the wood beside the dead ashes.

“Going to be a great day for walking,” said the Circle Four cowboy as he pulled on his boots.

“Not for my feet after the beating I gave them running around over the rocks in my stocking feet,” said Slim.

While Chuck was at the creek washing, Slim started the fire and checked over their supplies. There was enough bacon for the morning meal and four slices of bread that were so dry they now resembled hardtack. Not much food for a couple of hungry cowpunchers.

“We’re short of grub,” he informed Chuck.

“Just enough bacon for breakfast and a snack of bread.”

“Might just as well start the day on a full stomach. We’ll need it. How’s the coffee?”

“Plenty of coffee, but it’s going to take us at least a day to reach the bottom of this trail.”

“Well, the coffee will help. We can drink that and think we’ve had a meal.”

By the time the sun was up, they had finished breakfast and were about the task of breaking their simple camp.

“What about your saddle?” Chuck asked.

“I’m going to tote it with me as far as I can. If it gets too heavy I’ll cache it along the way. Dad gave it to me and I’m not going to take any unnecessary chances of losing it.”

Slim made up his duffel roll and fastened it to his saddle. Then he paused to look around the camp and make sure nothing had been overlooked. Chuck, rifle in hand, was waiting for him.

Slim swung the heavy saddle on his back and they started down the Sky High trail. It was covered with a fair growth of grass, for in recent years it was used by only an occasional rider and the walking wouldn’t have been half bad in low heeled shoes. But riding boots, with their high heels, were never meant to pound along over a none too smooth trail. Slim knew that he would be in agony before the day was over.

They reached the rock strewn wash where Chuck had been ambushed and stopped while the Circle Four cowboy picked up his saddle. High above them a buzzard was circling. In a few short hours Chuck’s cayuse would be another skeleton along the trail, hinting at an unsolved mystery.

Chuck stuck his rifle into the boot fastened to his saddle and the cowboys resumed their march down the trail. It was tough going over the rocks, but they were soon out of the wash, and the footing was a little better.

It was here that they picked up the trail of the men who had bushwhacked Chuck. Slim recognized Lightning’s hoofprints at once. A little further along they found where two more horses had been tethered for some time.

“They left their horses here while they went up in the draw and used me for a target,” said Chuck bitterly.

“Think you’d be able to recognize them if you saw them again?”

“I doubt it. The distance was too great and the light was poor.”

“I’ll know one of them,” said Slim. “I put my mark on him. Unless I miss my guess he’s got a shattered right elbow. If I ever catch up with him he’ll have something besides an elbow busted all out of shape.”

The sun burned down over the Cajons and the thin air soon warmed. Rivulets of perspiration streamed down Chuck’s back and his shirt was soon soaked. Slim, not quite so heavy, felt the heat less.

They pounded along for better than an hour when Chuck called a halt. “Let’s stop in the shade of these scrub oaks. This saddle is digging its way right into the middle of my back.”

Slim welcomed the suggestion and they flopped down in the shade.

Chuck looked up speculatively at the clear blue of the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the breeze had died down to a whisper.

“How many more miles to the bottom of the trail?” he asked.

“I don’t know exactly. I’d say we’ve covered about four miles since leaving camp. It must be 23 or 24 more.”

“I’ll never make it.”

“I’ve got to be at the foot of the trail tonight,” said Slim.

“I’m supposed to be,” admitted Chuck, “but I’ve serious doubts if my ‘dogs’ will hold out for better than 20 miles.”

“We’d better keep pounding along. Another hour and we’ll stop and make a pot of coffee and find a creek where we can soak our feet for awhile.”

“Good idea. Mine feel like they’re burning up right now.”

Shouldering their saddles, they set off down the trail. The grade was easing now. There was more timber but the grass was still scarce.

“Not much grazing land here,” commented Chuck.

“No. That’s up in the Creeping Shadows country. I’ve never been there but I’ve heard there’s some of the best grass in Wyoming in that valley.”

“Wouldn’t have to be very good to be that,” said Chuck. “We almost burned out this summer. No rain for weeks.”

“There’s been little or no rain here, but the Creeping Shadows always seem to get water.”

They were silent for a time and Slim wondered why Chuck, too, was anxious to get to the bottom of the trail that night. He couldn’t help thinking about the letter which had fallen from his companion’s pocket the night before and there was still the unanswered question on why Chuck had been set upon by the two gunmen.

The sun was well toward its zenith when they made their second stop beside a small stream. There was a little grass and a few trees in the valley, enough at least to provide them with shade.

Slim pulled off his boots and socks and looked at his feet. They were red and swollen. Chuck’s looked to be in even worse condition.

The Circle Four cowboy crawled to the water’s edge on his hands and knees and gratefully thrust his feet into the cool water.

“Oh boy! What a relief. I didn’t know water could feel so good. I’ve half a mind to spend the rest of the day right here.”

“Then you’ll have to spend it alone. I’m going to push on as soon as my feet feel a little better and we have some coffee.”

“Maybe the coffee will pep me up,” agreed Chuck. “I’ll rustle up the wood in a little bit.”

The cool water reduced the swelling of their feet and a few minutes later they donned their socks and boots and picked up enough dry wood for a fire. Slim filled the coffee pot and shortly before noon they had two cups of the steaming beverage apiece.

“Not much of a meal,” said Slim, “but it puts a little more stiffening in my back.”

Chuck nodded, looking thoughtfully at his saddle.

“Tell you what. I’m going to cache my saddle. I don’t think we’ll make it to the bottom of the trail tonight if we don’t. Once rid of the saddles we’ll be able to walk a lot faster and it will ease the strain on our feet.”

Slim looked down at his boots. The morning’s walk over the uneven ground had done them little good. The soles had been gouged by sharp rocks and the heels were wearing off at a crazy angle. By the end of the day he would have to discard his expensive boots for he doubted if even the most expert cobbler would possess the skill to repair them.

“Guess you’re right,” he