Texans! Young man, which hand did ye hit him
with? That un? Wall, I'll jest shake it, fer luck." He thought a moment.
"Ye air lucky, Boyd; north o' here, acrost th' headwaters o' this river,
an' a couple more streams, which might be dry now, ye'll hit th'
Picketwire, that's allus wet. If ye find th' little cricks dry, head
more westward an' ye'll strike th' Picketwire quicker. It'll take ye
nigh inter sight o' Bent's; an' thar ain't no finer men walkin' than
William an' Charles Bent. Hate ter lose ye, Boyd; but thar ain't no two
ways 'bout it; ye got ter go, or get skinned alive."

"I'm not goin' ter Bent's, captain," said Tom quietly. "I'll be in Santa
Fe soon after you git thar. Hank knows them mountains like you know this
trail. When I'm missed if ye'll throw 'em off my track I'll not fergit
it." He smiled grimly. "If I war goin' ter Bent's they could foller, an'
be damned to 'em. I'd like nothin' better than have 'em chase us
through this kind o' country."

Woodson chuckled and then grew thoughtful. "Boyd, them Texans air goin'
ter make trouble fer us, shore as shootin'. It'll be bad fer you, fer
every American in these settlements is goin' ter be watched purty clost.
Better go ter Bent's."

"Nope; Hank an' me air headin' fer Turley's, up on Arroyo Hondo. Hank
knows him well. Hyar come th' others. I've told you an' Cooper, an'
that's enough. You fellers ain't turnin' back so soon, air ye?" he
called. "Ye don't call this a hunt? Whar's yer meat?"

"Whar's yourn?" countered Alonzo, grinning. "I ate so many berries I got
cramps."

"Us, too," laughed Uncle Joe. "My feet air tender, ridin' so long. We're
goin' back."

"Might as well jine ye, then," said Woodson. "Comin', Boyd?"

"Not fer awhile," answered Tom, pushing on.

He made his way along the lower levels, reveling in the solitude and the
surroundings, and his keen eyes missed nothing. A mile from camp he
suddenly stopped and carefully parted the thick berry bushes. In the
soft soil were the prints of many horses, most of them shod. Cautiously
he followed the tracks and in a few moments came to the edge of a small,
heavily grassed clearing, so well hidden by the brush and the thick
growth of the trees along the encircling, steep-faced hills that its
presence hardly would be suspected. Closely cropped circles, each
centered by the hole made by a picket pin, told him the story; and when
he had located the sand-covered site of the fire, whose ashes and sticks