horses' hoofs drummed softly on the unbroken turf. Steadily, steadily the land mounted upward toward the dim rampart of the Broken Horns, a high black dike raised against the lesser blackness of the sky, jagged of edge, seeming to menace the whole star-sprinkled firmament with imprisonment. Now and again a gurgling and chuttering of waters in flight gave tempo to the monotone of the thudding hoofs; that would be the Poison Spider purling down from its box canon in the mountains ahead. A coyote's tremulous bawling, the rare tom-tom beat of some owl calling out of the alders; these were the only other noises.
Mile after mile through the night.
A rise was topped, and far ahead two red spots glowed against the bulwark of the mountains like rubies dropped on black velvet; perhaps five miles separated the two spots of color. At sight of them the cavalcade came to a halt. A leader's voice sounded.
"We split here. Six of you cross the creek and make for that fire to the north. Don't start the circus 'til you hear us tune up down at the south camp. If anythin' on two legs puts up a fight kill it, but don't go outa your way to invite any indictments. Remember,
