They found water and plenty of feed, made their camps early, broke camp
early, and rode steadily. With no visible incentive to keep going,
Bartley lost his first keen interest in the hunt, and contented himself
with listening to Cheyenne's yarns about the country and its folk, or
occasionally chatting with some wayfarer. But never once did Cheyenne
hint, to those they met, just why he was riding south.

There were hours at a stretch, when the going was level, when Cheyenne
did nothing but roll his gun, throw down on different objects, toss up
his gun, and catch it by the handle; and once he startled Bartley by
making a quick fall from the saddle and shooting from the ground.
Cheyenne explained to Bartley that often, when riding alone, he had
spent hour after hour figuring out the possibilities of gun-play, till
it became evident to the Easterner that, aside from being naturally
quick, there was a very good reason for Cheyenne's proficiency with the
six-gun. He practiced continually. And yet, thought Bartley, one of the
Box-S punchers had said that Cheyenne had never killed anything bigger
than a coyote, and never would--intimating that he was too good-natured
ever to take advantage of his own proficiency with a gun.

Bartley wondered just how things would break if they did happen to meet
Panhandle unexpectedly. Panhandle would no doubt dispose of the stolen
horses as soon as he could. What excuse would Cheyenne have to call
Panhandle to account? And when it came to a show-down, _would_ Cheyenne
call him to account?

Bartley was thinking of this when they made an early camp, the afternoon
of the third day out. After the horses were hobbled and the packs
arranged, Bartley decided to experiment a little with his new Luger