troughs to look for more canteens. So Pringle wriggled out with his
canteen, selected a horse, and rode quietly through the open gate.

"Going already?" called Robbins as he passed.

Secure under cover of darkness, Pringle answered in the voice of one
who, riding, eats:

"Yes, indeedy; I ain't no hawg. Wasn't much hungry nohow!"




Chapter V


At the foot of Little Thumb Butte a lengthening semicircle of fire
flared through the night. John Wesley Pringle swung far out on the
plain to circle round it.

"This takes time," he muttered to himself, "but at least I know where
not to go. That old rip-snorter sure put a spoke in my wheel! Looks
like Foy might see them lights and drift out away from this. But he
won't, I guess--they said his hidey-hole was right on top, and the
shoulder of the hill will hide the fires from him. Probably asleep,
anyhow, thinkin' he's safe. I slep' three hours this morning at the
Major's; but Foy he didn't sleep any. Even if he did leave, they'd
track him up in the morning and get him--and he knows it. Somebody's
goin' to be awfully annoyed when he misses this horse."