"Wolf-hungry to make a killin' because they're foolin'
themselves that they're actin' out the law! Well, come on, Chico, old
hoss, we got to make home before sundown."
CHAPTER XIX
THE SPIDER
Where the old Ranger Trail, crossing the Blue Mesa, leaves the high
mesa and meanders off into the desert, there is a fork which leads
southwest, to the Apache country--a grim and waterless land--and
finally swings south toward the border. Pete dismounted at this fork,
pulled up his slackened cinches, and making certain that he was leaving
a plain track, rode down the main trail for half a mile. Then he
reined his pony to a bare spot on the grass-dotted tufa, and again
dismounted. He looped Blue Smoke's fore feet, then threw him, and
pulled his shoes with a pair of wire nippers, and stowed the shoes in
his saddle-pockets.
He again rode directly down the trail, surmising that the occasional
track of a barefoot horse would appear natural enough should the posse,
whom he knew would follow him, split up and ride both trails. Farther
on he again swung from the trail to the tufa, never slackening pace,
and rode across the broken ground for several miles.
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