turned Sanchia's horse loose, driving the animal down into a dark
ravine where there would be no finding it in the night-time.

'It's only a chance,' he said, 'but then that's better than just
sitting and sucking our thumbs. We take the up-trail here.'

They came out upon the tablelands above Bear Valley. There was better
light here; the trail was less narrow and steep; they could look down
and see the light in the cabin.


Later they were to know just what had been Sanchia Murray's quick reply
to their move. And then they were to know, too, where Jim Courtot's
hang-out had been during these last weeks in which he had seemed to
vanish. Sanchia, with a golden labour before her, had promptly turned
to her 'right hand.' On foot, since there was no other way, and
running until she was breathless and spent, she hurried across the
narrow valley, climbed the low hills at its eastern edge, and plunged
down into the ravine which was the head of Dry Gulch. Up the farther
side she clambered, again running, panting and sobbing with the
exertion she put upon herself, until she came to another broken
cliff-ridge. There she had stood calling. And, from a hidden hole in
the rocks, giving entrance to a cave, like a wolf from its lair, there
had come at her calling Jim Courtot.




Chapter XXVI