mon’s arrival with the men from the Bar T. They moved cautiously ahead for a hundred yards. Then Moran touched Kinney’s arm and they stopped. It was inky black between the towering walls of the gorge. They sat down cross-legged on the ground. Before they were well seated a horse gave a whistling snort of surprise from the brush nearby.
Out in the darkness a man cursed fretfully.
“The horses are getting spooky,” he said. “It’s blacker than hell in here. Let’s have a light.” A second man gave a grunt of assent and they moved toward Kinney and Moran.
Both rose silently and drew back flat against the base of the cliff. A match flared up near them, glowing pinkly through the fingers which shielded it, and throwing a dim light across an unshaven face. Kinney stretched his hands up along the wall and felt the edge of a break a few inches above his head. He gripped it with his fingers, placed his foot on a projecting point of rock and drew himself up. He swept one arm out to determine its width and leaned down to touch Moran. It was only an irregularity in the cliff, a little shelf some two feet wide. The two men were breaking dry sticks for their fire and
