the smoke arose in clouds, we reviewed the interim since we
parted in March in old Medina. The sheriff's posse accompanied my
brother to the wagon, and after refreshing themselves, remounted
their horses. Bob escorted them back across the summit of the
mesa, and the olive branch waved in peace on the divide.

The morning was not far advanced. After a brief consultation, the
two older foremen urged that we ride to the relief of Forrest. A
hint was sufficient, and including five of my best-mounted men, a
posse of twenty of us rode away. We held the divide for some
distance on our course, and before we left it, a dust-cloud,
indicating the presence of Bob's herd, was sighted on the
southern slope, while on the opposite one my cattle were
beginning to move forward. Sponsilier knew the probable
whereabouts of Forrest, and under his lead we swung into a free
gallop as we dropped down the northern slope from the mesa. The
pace was carrying us across country at a rate of ten miles an
hour, scarcely a word being spoken, as we shook out kink after
kink in our horses or reined them in to recover their wind. Our
objective point was a slight elevation on the plain, from which
we expected to sight the trail if not the herds of Flood,
Forrest, and The Rebel. On reaching this gentle swell, we reined
in and halted our horses, which were then fuming with healthy
sweat. Both creek and trail were clearly outlined before us, but
with the heat-waves and mirages beyond, our view was naturally
restricted. Sponsilier felt confident that Forrest was north of
the creek and beyond the trail, and again shaking out our horses,
we silently put the intervening miles behind us. Our mounts were
all fresh and strong, and in crossing the creek we allowed them a
few swallows of water before continuing our ride. We halted again