Unerringly rode Healy through the tangled hills toward a saddle in the peaks that flared vivid with crimson and mauve and topaz. A man of moods, he knew more than one before he reached the Pass for which he was headed. Now he rode with his eyes straight ahead, his face creased to a hard smile that brought out its evil lines. Now he shook his clenched fist into the air and cursed.
Or again he laughed exultingly. This was when he remembered that his rival was trapped beyond hope of extrication.
While the sky tints round the peaks deepened to purple with the coming night he climbed cañons, traversed rock ridges, and went down and up rough slopes of shale. Always the trail grew more difficult, for he was getting closer to the divide where Bear Creek heads. He reached the upper regions of the pine gulches that seamed the hills with wooded crevasses, and so came at last to Gregory's Pass.
Here, close to the yellow stars that shed a cold wintry light, he dismounted and hobbled his horse. After which he found a soft spot in the mossy rocks and fell asleep. He was a light sleeper, and two hours later he awakened. Horses were laboring up the Pass.
He waited tensely, rifle in both hands, till the heads of the riders showed in the moonlight. Three--four--five of them he counted. The men he saw were those he expected, and he lowered his rifle at once.
"Hello, Cuffs! Purdy! That you, Tom? Well, you're too late."
"Too late," echoed little Purdy.
"Yep. Didn't get here in time myself to see who any of them were except the last. It was right dark, and they were most through before I reached here."
"But you knew one," Purdy suggested.
Healy looked at him and nodded. "There were four of them. I crept forward on top of that flat rock just as the last showed up. He was ridin' a hawss with four white stockings."
"A roan, mebbe," Tom put in quickly.
"You've said it, Tom--a roan, and it looked to me like it was wounded. There was blood all over the left flank."
"O' course Keller was riding it," Purdy ventured.
"Rung the bell at the first shot," Healy answered grimly.
"The son of a gun!"
"How long ago was it, Brill?" asked another.
"Must a-been two hours, anyhow."
"No use us following them now, then."
"No use. They've gone to cover."
They turned their horses and took the back trail. The cow ponies scrambled down rocky slopes like cats, and up steep inclines with the agility of mountain goats. The men rode in single file, and conversation was limited to disjointed fragments jerked out now and again. After an hour's rough going they reached the foothills, where they could ride two abreast. As they drew nearer to the ranch country, now one and now another turned off with a shout of farewell.