t until they came to the Cimarron. Here they threw into the river the
useless contents of the false packs, distributed the supplies among the
mules, and pushed on again upstream along the bank.

They now were well up on the headwaters of the river and its width was
negligible, although its storm-fed torrent boiled and seethed and gave
to it a false fierceness. Their doubling and the hiding of their trail
in the streams had not been done so much for the purpose of throwing the
Mexicans off their track, as to make their pursuers think they were
trying to throw them off. They knew that the Mexicans, upon losing the
tracks, would strike straight for the old and now almost abandoned
Indian trail for Bent's Fort.

"We got about a ten-hour start on 'em," growled Tom, "but they'll cut
that down quick, once they git goin'. Reckon I'll lay back a-ways an'
slow 'em up if they git hyar too soon."

Zeb and Jim wheeled their horses and without a word accompanied him to
the rear.

Hank, leading the bell mule, pushed on, looking for the site of his old
cache and for a good place to cross the swollen stream, and he soon
stopped at the water's edge and howled like a wolf. In a few minutes his
companions came up, reported no Mexicans in sight, and unpacked the more
perishable supplies. These they carried across to the other bank, their
horses swimming strongly and soon the mules were ready to follow. Tom
led off, entering the stream with the picket rope of the bell mule
fastened to his saddle, and with his weapons, powder horn and "possible"
sack high above his head. His horse breasted the current strongly,
quartering against it, and the bell mule followed. After her, with a
slight show of hesitation, came the others, the three remaining hunters
bringing up the rear.

As the _atejo_ formed again and started forward Hank hung back, peering
into the stunted trees and brush on the other side of the stream.

"Come on, Hank," said Tom. "What ye lookin' fer? They warn't in sight."

"I war sorta hankerin' fer 'em ter show up," growled Hank with deep
regret. "That's plumb center range from hyar, over thar. Wouldn't mind
takin' a couple o' cracks at 'em, out hyar by ourselves, us four. Allus
hate ter turn my tail ter yaller-bellies like them varmints. I hate 'em
next ter Crows!" He slowly turned his horse and fell in behind the last
mule, glancing back sorrowfully. Then he looked ahead. "Thar's my ol'
cache," he chuckled.

Before them on