Laramie make it
with Abe, starting by midnight? He could. It was impossible to meet
Laramie outside town because no one could tell which trail he might
have to choose to come in on. But Sawdy and Lefever could look for him
out on the plateau at the head of Fort Street. Henry Sawdy, his heavy
mustaches sweeping his thick lips, and his bloodshot eyes moving from
one to the other of the two faces before him only stared and listened.

"Why don't you say something, Henry?" demanded Lefever, exasperated.

Sawdy turned a reproachful look on his lively partner: "When you're
talking, John, there ain't no chance to say anything. When Jim's
talking, I don't want to say anything."

Laramie ordered his horse, got into oilskins, and riding out the back
way of the stable started for the Falling Wall. The day was spent and
the rain had turned soft and misty. He rode fast and with a little
watchfulness, exercised before reaching the Crazy Woman, satisfied
himself that he had not been followed out of town.

What had actually happened was that he rode north not long after Kate
herself started for home. But Laramie followed old trails out of
town--even at the price of rounding fences and at times dodging through
wire gates for short cuts. Night was upon him when he reached the
bluffs of the creek. Between showers the sky had lightened, but the
north was overcast, and Laramie knew what to look forward to. When he
had got up the long hill, and reached the northern bluffs, it was
raining steadily again, and night had spread over mountain and valley.

Abating something of his usual precaution in riding to reach Hawk's
hiding place, Laramie went slowly into the bad lands by a route less
dangerous than that he usually followed. As the night deepened, the
wind rising brought a heavier rain. The trail became increasingly
difficult to follow; rough at best, it was now almost impassable.
Sheets of water trickled over stretches of rock causing the horse to
slip and flounder. In other places rivulets shooting out of crevices
cut the loose earth from under the horse's feet. Leg-tired, the horse
finally resented being headed into the driving rain and went forward
slipping, hesitating and groping like a man on hands and knees.

When Laramie got him to the old bridge, the pony was all in. Laramie
found shelter for him under a ledge and rifle in hand clambered along
the side of the canyon toward the abutment. Close to the entrance h