"Yes. But, dad, they'll hunt out the hills the first thing."

"They will not!" said the Major triumphantly. "They'll read our sign;
they'll see where four shod horses came up the road. I'll claim one of
them was a horse I was leading--that'll be that bald-faced roan out in
the corral. We all want to stick to that."

"But he's bigger than any of our horses," objected Pringle. "They'll
know better by the tracks."

"Exactly! So they'll find a fresh-shod track going east--a track
matching the fourth track we left on the road. They'll reason that
we're trying to keep them from following that track. So they'll follow
it up; they'll find Kit's give-out horse and then they'll know they're
right."

"It seems to me," said Pringle reflectively, "that friend Cowan may
have an interesting time if they get him."

The Major permitted himself a grin.

"He yanked the shoes off his horse before he left. Once he mixes his
tracks up with a bunch of wild mares he'll be all right. They may
think, but they can't prove anything. And Foy'll be all right--if only
the posse follows the plain trail."

"It's too much to hope," said Stella. "They'll split up. Some of them
will hunt out the hills anyway--to-morrow, if not to-day."