hains as the horses thrashed lazily at pestering flies, and the
sullen gurgle of the swollen river. Again he swore. His lips drew into a
snarl of hate as his glance once more sought the face of the woman. In
his eyes the gleam of hot desire commingled with a glitter of revenge as
his thoughts flew swiftly to Wolf River--the Texan's open insult and the
pilgrim's swift shot in the dark. Here, helpless, completely in his
power to do with as he pleased, lay the woman who had been the unwitting
cause of his undoing! Vengeance was his at last, and he licked his lips
in wolfish anticipation of the wrecking of that vengeance. The thought
of revenge was more sweet in that he never anticipated it. The Texan had
disappeared altogether, and he had heard from Long Bill that the girl
had married the pilgrim in Timber City, and that they had gone back
East. But if so, what was she doing here--alone?

Swiftly the man scanned the ground for tracks, but found none. The
bootless feet of the Texan had left no mark on the buffalo grass. Only
one horse had gone up the coulee--and he had that horse. Whoever had
been with her when the ferry cable broke, had certainly not landed with
her at the mouth of the coulee. "Pilgrim's prob'ly fell out an'
drownded--an' a damned good job--him an' his horse, too--prob'ly the
horse got to raisin' hell an' jerked him into the river--Long Bill, too,
most likely--I'll swing around by his shack an' see if they's anything
there I want. But, first off, I got to take care of this here lady--silk
stockin's an' all an' the quicker I git to the bad lands with her the
better--it ain't no cinch that the pilgrim, or Long Bill didn't make
shore somewheres else, an' if they did they'll be huntin' her." After a
vain attempt to rouse the girl Purdy led the buckskin close and throwing
her over the saddle bound her firmly in place with the rope. Then,
leading the buckskin, he rode rapidly up the coulee and coming out on
the bench headed up the river for the bad lands only a few short miles
away.

CHAPTER XVI

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Purdy did not hit for the subterranean hang-out of the gang. Instead,
after entering the bad lands, he continued on up the river for a
distance of several miles, being careful to select footing for the
horses among the rock ridges and coulees that would leave no trail--no
trail, at least, that any white man could pick up and follow. Two hours
later with five or six miles of trailless bad