They were still cantering, and they rode close together like a tireless
pack of wolves. After this old Jasper went back to his house, and when
the door closed behind him a lonely echo went through the place.

"Bah!" said Jasper. "I'm getting soft!"

In the meantime the posse went on, regardless of direction. There were
only two possible paths for a horseman out of Martindale; east and west
the mountains blocked the way, and young Lanning had started north.
Straight ahead of them the mountains shot up on either side of Grant's
Pass, and toward this natural landmark Bill Dozier led the way. Not that
he expected to have to travel as far as this. He felt fairly certain
that the fugitive would ride out his horse at full speed, and then he
would camp for the night and make a fire.

Andrew Lanning was town bred and soft of skin from the work at the
forge. When the biting night air got through his clothes he would need
warmth from a fire.

Bill Dozier led on his men for three hours at a steady pace until they
came to Sullivan's ranch house in the valley. The place was dark, but
the deputy threw a loose circle of his men around the house, and then
knocked at the front door. Old man Sullivan answered in his bare feet.
Did he know of the passing of young Lanning? Not only that, but he had
sold Andrew a horse. It seemed that Andrew was making a hurried trip;
that Buck Heath had loaned him his horse for the first leg of it, and
that Buck would call later for the animal. It had sounded strange, but
Sullivan was not there to ask questions. He had led Andrew to the corral
and told him to make his choice.