. . The old herder padded to his shack
and squatted down, to finish soldering the tiny rings on the buttons
for his daughter's jacket.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BLACK SOMBRERO
When Andy had ridden far enough to feel secure in turning and riding
north--in fact, his plan was to work back to the Concho in a wide
circle--he reined in and dismounted. From a low ridge he surveyed the
western desert, approximated his bearings, and had his foot in the
stirrup when he saw four tiny dots that bobbed up and down on the
distant sky-line of the west. He had left an easy trail to follow and
the pursuers were riding hard. They were still a long distance from
him. He led his horse down the far side of the ridge and mounted. He
rode straight east for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then he turned and
at right angles to his trail sped north behind the long, low, sandy
ridge. He could not be seen until the posse had topped it--and even
then it was probable they would fling down the slope, following his
tracks until they came to where he had turned. Straight ahead of him
the ridge swung to the left.
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