They would tether their ponies at the entrance
and come afoot and under cover. Still, they would have to pass the notch
in any event.
Thus it was that when, some few minutes later, Overland heard the faint
jingle of rein-chains, he grinned. It was celestial music to him.
The sound came again, nearer the notch, and clearer. He remained
motionless gazing at the shadowy opening.
Slowly a shaft of moonlight drew down toward the notch, silvering its
ragged edges. Lower the light slid until it revealed the opening and in
it the figure of a horseman. In the white light Overland could see the
quirt dangling from the other's wrist. The horseman's wide belt
glittered.
"Brand!" called Overland Red softly. The opposite wall took up the name
hesitatingly and tossed it back.
"Brand!" whispered the echoes that drifted to the darkened corners of
the cliff and were lost in voiceless murmurings.
"Brand your own stock," came the answer, low and distinct.
Overland laughed. It was their old-time pun upon the foreman's name. He
got to his feet and approached. "It does me good," he said, extending
his hand.
"How is Collie?" asked Williams, dismounting.
Overland heaved great sigh. "He's floatin' somewhere between here and
the far shore.
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