hore they
lost your trail. Then they spread through the woods, workin' off to the
south, thinkin', of course, thet you would circle round to Pine on the
south side of Old Baldy. There ain't a hoss-tracker in Snake Anson's
gang, thet's shore. Wal, I follered them for an hour till they'd rustled
some miles off our trail. Then I went back to where you struck into
the woods. An' I waited there all afternoon till dark, expectin' mebbe
they'd back-trail. But they didn't. I rode on a ways an' camped in the
woods till jest before daylight."

"So far so good," declared Dale.

"Shore. There's rough country south of Baldy an' along the two or three
trails Anson an' his outfit will camp, you bet."

"It ain't to be thought of," muttered Dale, at some idea that had struck
him.

"What ain't?"

"Goin' round the north side of Baldy."

"It shore ain't," rejoined Roy, bluntly.

"Then I've got to hide tracks certain--rustle to my camp an' stay there
till you say it's safe to risk takin' the girls to Pine."

"Milt, you're talkin' the wisdom of the prophets."

"I ain't so sure we can hide tracks altogether. If Anson had any eyes
for the woods he'd not have lost me so soon.

"No. But, you see, he's figgerin' to cross your trail."

"If I could get fifteen or twenty mile farther on an' hide tracks
certain, I'd feel safe from pursuit, anyway," said the hunter,
reflectively.

"Shore an' easy," responded Roy, quickly. "I jest met up with some
greaser sheep-herders drivin' a big flock. They've come up from the
south an' are goin' to fatten up at Turkey Senacas. Then they'll drive
back south an' go on to Phenix. Wal, it's muddy weather. Now you break
camp quick an' make a plain trail out to thet sheep trail, as if you
was travelin' south. But, instead, you ride round ahead of thet flock of
sheep. They'll keep to the open parks an' the trails through them necks
of woods out here. An', passin' over your tracks, they'll hide 'em."

"But supposin' Anson circles an' hits this camp? He'll track me easy out
to that sheep trail. What then?"

"Jest what you want. Goin' south thet sheep trail is downhill an' muddy.
It's goin' to rain hard. Your tracks would get washed out even if you
did go south. An' Anson would keep on thet way till he was clear off the
scent. Leave it to me, Milt. You're a hunter. But I'm a hoss-tracker."

"All right. We'll rustle."

Then he called the girls to hurry.

CHAPTER VIII

Once astride the horse again,