of it. Hours since he should have met the rider who patrolled the border to the east of him. According to orders this man would wait a reasonable time at the established meeting point, and then would ride forward into Texas's territory to find what was amiss.
Without doubt this man had discovered the herd and was now on his way to give the alarm. There was nothing left for Hartwell to do but face toward the north and tramp it to Duncan's ranch, doubly disgraced in the eyes of his employers.
Burdened by this humiliation, he started, only to run across his horse a mile or so up the creek. The animal's trail rope had become tangled in the brush, and it had wound itself up until it hadn't an inch to spare. It was nearly noon when he mounted to ride to Duncan's ranch.
They were at supper at the Duncan ranch when a man on a mud-spattered horse drew rein before the low sod house in its nest of cottonwoods. He left the panting creature standing with legs apart like a new-born colt, its head drooping, its nostrils flaring as it puffed in its fatigue. His shout brought Duncan to the door.
Dee Winch had ridden in not an hour before. He and Duncan's sons held their clatter of cutlery to listen to the report the trail-rider began to make.
