"It won't be--if I see him first."






CHAPTER XII

JIMMY AND THE LUGER GUN


Two days of riding toward the west, along the edge of the hills, and
Bartley and Cheyenne found themselves approaching the high country. The
trail ran up a wide valley, on either side of which were occasional
ranches reaching back toward the slopes. In reality they were gradually
climbing the range on an easy grade and making good time.

Their course now paralleled the theoretical course of Panhandle and his
fellows. Dodging the rugged land to the south, Cheyenne had swung round
in a half-circle, hoping to head off Panhandle on the desert side of the
range. Since abandoning the tracks of the stolen horses, Cheyenne had
resumed his old habit of singing as he rode. He seemed to know the name
of every ranch, and of every person they met.

Once or twice some acquaintance expressed surprise that Cheyenne did not
stop and spend the night with him. But Cheyenne jokingly declined all
invitations, explaining to Bartley that in stopping to visit they would
necessarily waste hours in observing the formalities of arrival and
departure, although Cheyenne did not put it just that way.