where he was headed for, and the foreman knew Irish too well to ask.
Yes, now Weary spoke of it, Irish did have his gun buckled on him, and
he headed for Sleepy Trail.

Weary waited for no further information. He threw his saddle on a
horse that he knew could get out and drift, if need came: presently he,
too, was chasing a brown dust cloud over the hill toward Sleepy Trail.

That Irish had gone to find Spikes Weber, Weary was positive; that
Spikes was not a man who could be trusted to fight fair, he was even
more positive. Weary, however, was not afraid for Irish--he was merely
a bit uneasy and a bit anxious to be on hand when came the meeting. He
spurred along the trail darkening with the afterglow of a sun departed
and night creeping down upon the land, and wondered whether he would be
able to come up with Irish before he reached town.

At the place where the trail forked--the place where he had met the
wife of Spikes, he saw from a distance another rider gallop out of the
dusk and follow in the way that Irish had gone. Without other evidence
than mere instinct, he knew the horseman for Spikes. When, further
along, the horseman left the trail and angled away down a narrow
coulee, Weary rode a bit faster. He did not know the country very
well, and was not sure of where that coulee led; but he knew the nature
of a man like Spikes Weber, and his uneasiness was not lulled at the
sight. He meant to overtake Irish, if he could; after that he had no
plan whatever.

When, however, he came to the place where Spikes had turned off. Weary
turned off also and followed down the coulee; and he did not explain
why, even to himself. He only hurried to overtake the other, or at
least to keep him in sight.

The darkness lightened to bright starlight, with a moon not yet in its
prime to throw shadows black and mysterious against the coulee sides.
The coulee itself, Weary observed, was erratic in the matter of height,
width and general direction. Places there were where the width
dwindled until there was scant room for the cow trail his horse
conscientiously followed; places there were where the walls were easy
slopes to climb, and others where the rocks hung, a sheer hundred feet,
above him.

One of the easy slopes came near throwing him off the trail of Spikes.
He climbed the slope, and Weary would have ridden by, only that he
caught a brief glimpse of something on the hilltop; something that
moved, and that looked li