Billy Porter declaimed in a loud voice from the head of the procession.

"Of course, Kut-le has taken to the mountains. He'll steer clear of
ranches and cowboys for a while. Our chance lies in his giving up
covering his trail after he gets well into the ranges. We will get his
trail and hang on till we can outwit him. If he was alone, we'd never
get him, barring accident. But he will be a lot hampered by Miss Rhoda
and I trust to her to hamper him a whole lot after she gets her hand
in."

All the rest of the burning afternoon they moved toward the mountains.
It was quite dusk when they entered the foothills. The way, not good
at best, grew difficult and dangerous to follow. Billy led on,
however, until darkness closed down on them in a little cactus-grown
cañon. Here he halted and ordered camp for a few hours.

"Lord!" exclaimed DeWitt. "You're not going to camp! I thought you
were really going to do something!"

Billy finished lighting the fire and by its light he gave an impatient
glance at the tenderfoot. But the look of the burned, sand-grimed
face, the bloodshot eyes, blazing with anxiety, caused him to speak
patiently.

"Can't kill the horses, DeWitt. You must make up your mind that this
is going to be a hard hunt. You got to call out all the strength
you've been storing up all your life, and then some. We've got to use
common sense. Lord, I want to get ahead, don't I! I seen Miss Rhoda.
I know what she's like. This ain't any joy ride for me, either. I got
a lot of feeling in it."