Dead Man's Cache - Chapter 2 A Capture

Flatray swung around Old Baldy through the sparse timber that edged its
roots. He knew this country well; for he had run cattle here, and combed
the draws and ridges on the annual spring and fall round-ups.

There was no trail to follow. Often the lay of the land forced him to a
detour; for it was rough with washes, with matted cactus, and with a thick
growth of netted mesquite and underbrush. But true as the needle of a
compass, he turned back always to the direction he was following. He had
the instinct for direction, sharpened almost to infallibility by the
experience his work had given him.

So, hour after hour, he swung forward, pushing his horse over the ground
in a sort of running walk, common to the plains. Sunset found him climbing
from the foothills into the mountains beyond. Starlight came upon him in a
saddle between the peaks, still plodding up by winding paths to the higher
altitudes that make the ridge of the continent's backbone.

The moon was up long before he struck a gulch spur that led to Elkhorn
Cañon. Whether he would be in time or not--assuming that he had guessed
aright as to the destination of the outlaws--he could not tell. It would
be, at best, a near thing. For, though he had come more directly, they had
followed a trail which made the going much faster. Fast as the cow pony
could pick its way along the rock-strewn gulch, he descended, eye and ear
alert to detect the presence of another human being in this waste of
boulders, of moonlit, flickering shadows, of dark awesome peaks.