As Bartley tossed the coin, Cheyenne called. The half-dollar dropped and
stuck edge-up in the sand.

"You wear 'em the first fifteen miles and then we'll swap," said
Cheyenne.

Bartley filled the canteen and scraped dirt over the fire. Cheyenne took
a last look around, and turned toward the south.

"You didn't say nothin' about headin' back to Antelope," said Cheyenne.

"Why, no. I started out to visit Senator Brown's ranch."

Cheyenne laughed. "Well, you're out to see the country, anyhow. We'll
see lots, to-day."

Once more upon the road Cheyenne's manner changed. He seemed to ignore
the fact that he was afoot, in country where there was little prospect
of getting a lift from a passing rancher or freighter. And he said
nothing about his horses, Filaree and Joshua, although Bartley knew that
their loss must have hit him hard.

A mile down the road, and Cheyenne was singing his trail song,
bow-legging ahead as though he were entirely alone and indifferent to
the journey:

Seems like I don't git anywhere:
Git along, cayuse, git along!
But I'm leavin' here and I'm goin' there,
Git along, cayuse, git along--