They crossed the ridge and, seeing a wavy line of trees in the wide
hollow, quickened their pace. The soil was firmer, the scrub through
which the wheels crushed was short, and the trail led smoothly down a
slight descent. This was comforting, for half the sky was barred with
leaden cloud and the parched grass gleamed beneath it lividly white,
while the light that struck a ridge-top here and there had a sinister
luridness. It was getting cold and the wind was dropping; and that was
not a favorable sign.

Pushing the cart through the softer places, dragging the jaded pony by
the head, they hurried on and at last plunged through a creek with the
trees just beyond. A few minutes later they tethered the pony to lee
of the cart, and set up their tent. While Blake was rummaging out
provisions, and Harding searching the bluff for dry sticks, they heard
a beat of hoofs and a man rode up, leading a second horse. He got down
and hobbled the horses before he turned to Blake.

"From the south? You're for Sweetwater?" he asked.

"Yes. How much farther is it?"

"You ought to make it in a day and a half," the stranger said. "I'll
ride in with you. My name's Gardner. I run a store and hotel at
Sweetwater, but I feel that I want to get out on the prairie now and
then, and as a horse was missing I went after him. A looker, isn't he?"

The man had a good-humored, sunburned face and an honest look, and he
gladly acquiesced in Blake's suggestion that he join them instead of
cooking a separate supper.