agreed. “I hate to leave my saddle, but I know I can’t carry it to the bottom of the trail tonight.”

Chuck looked at Slim sharply, each perplexed, perhaps a little alarmed, at the insistence of the other upon reaching the trail’s end by sundown.

Slim washed the coffee grounds out of the pot and then placed the battered tin pot and the remaining coffee in his blanket roll.

“There’s a little draw off to the left and across the creek that ought to be a good place to leave our saddles,” said Chuck.

They tossed the saddles across the creek and then jumped after them. A thicket in the draw which Chuck had pointed out proved ideal for a cache. They returned to the other side of the creek and slung their blanket rolls over their shoulders.

Both cowboys had unfastened their rifle scabbards from their saddles, and they carried these in their right hands, the butts of the guns protruding from the leather case.

With the burden of their saddles gone and their feet rested, they set out down the trail again. The blinding heat of midday was upon them, but they dared not tarry longer beside the creek.

Heads down and shoulders hunched, they plodded along the trail. Hoofprints of three horses were still plainly visible for the men who had stolen Lightning had ridden down the trail at a fast pace.

“Makes me boil inside every time I think of my being set afoot,” snorted Chuck. “Maybe I’ll take a little time off and hunt around for the boys who did me dirt. With the souvenir you left on that one chap’s arm, they shouldn’t be so hard to find.”

They swung around a bend in the trail and came upon the ashes of a recent campfire. Slim placed his hand in the ashes. They were cold.

“The horses were staked out and hobbled over here,” called out Chuck. “Too bad we didn’t slip down the trail last night and take them by surprise.”

“It’s easy to think of those things now,” grinned Slim as he picked up a handkerchief which was covered with brown stains. “I don’t imagine one of them passed a very comfortable night.”

In midafternoon they paused beside another mountain stream to rest and bathe their weary feet.

“My ‘dogs’ look like they are going to explode,” said Chuck as he wiggled his toes in the cool water.

Slim, stretched on the bank beside him, nodded. He was wondering if they would be able to maintain their pace and make the bottom of the trail that night. He didn’t want to disappoint Bill Needham, for the old cattleman had written that he was counting on him.

“My stomach and backbone are so close together I’m afraid they’ll form a union and strike on me,” grumbled Chuck, “unless I put some food inside me quick.”

“There’s a little coffee left.”

“Then coffee it is,” said Chuck. He built a fire and brewed a bitter pot of beverage.

“What did you drop in this? The heel of one of your boots?” asked Slim as he sipped the black stuff.

“Don’t complain. It’s hot and it’s filling, which is the main thing.”

In spite of its poor taste, they downed the coffee, drew on their boots, picked up the rifles, and resumed the painful downward trip.

The sun was swinging well along toward the horizon and the country was flattening out. They had reached the foothills, but there was still no sign of human habitation. Coming out of a patch of timber, they looked down a long, broad valley, the grass of which had been burned out by the sun.

“I pity cattle trying to live off this stuff,” said Slim.

“Better pity us. If we don’t find something real to eat, we may have to take to grass.”

Chuck started down the trail again when Slim’s call stopped him.

“Wait a minute. There’s a horseman riding into the lower end of the valley.”

Chuck halted and scanned the far end of the valley.

“Can’t see a thing. Maybe you’re going daffy.”

“I’m not daffy,” retorted Slim sharply. “Just stand still a minute. The fellow’s coming in from the right and he’s leading another horse.”

Chuck shaded his eyes and peered intently in the direction Slim had indicated.

“You’re right. What now?”

“Let’s drop back in the timber along the trail and wait for him to come up where we can get a good look.”

They found shelter in a tangle of brush that had grown up around a fallen tree. Slim pulled his rifle from the scabbard and threw open the magazine. The weapon was ready for action.

“Not taking any chances?” Chuck asked.

“Nary a chance. I took one last night and lost Lightning.”

The rider advanced rapidly but the sun blazed in the eyes of the cowboys and they found it difficult to see clearly.

The oncoming horseman was less than 400 yards away when Slim recognized the horse.

“He’s riding Lightning!” he cried. “Chuck do you hear? That’s Lightning coming up the trail!”

“Sure I hear and unless you pipe down that rider will hear you and then Lightning may be forced to go the other way in a hurry.”

Slim, who had stood up in his moment of wild elation, crouched down behind the tree trunk and cradled the butt of his rifle against his cheek. The lines of his jaw snapped into straight, tense lines and his finger crooked around the trigger. A little further and the unknown rider of Lightning would be out of the angle of the Sun’s protecting rays.