Men ridin' in all since winter broke. An' them from west
tell some hard stories."
"I've got to go," replied Neale, with emotion. "It's nearly a year
since I saw Allie. Not a word between us in all that time! ... Red,
I can't stand it longer."
"Shore, I know," replied King, hastily. "You ain't reckonin' I
wanted to crawfish? I'll go. We'll pack light, hit the trail at
night, an' hide up in the daytime."
Neale had arrived in North Platte before noon, and before sunset he
and King were far out on the swelling slopes of plainland, riding
toward the west.
Traveling by night, camping by day, they soon left behind them the
monotonous plains of Nebraska. The Sioux had been active for two
summers along the southern trails of Wyoming. The Texan's long
training on the ranges stood them in good stead here. His keen eye
for tracks and smoke and distant objects, his care in hiding trails
and selecting camps, and his skill and judgment in all pertaining to
the horses--these things made the journey possible. For they saw
Indian signs more than once before the Wyoming hills loomed up in
the distance. More than one flickering camp-fire they avoided by a
wide detour.
Slingerland's valley showed all the signs of early summer. The
familiar trail, however, bore no tracks of horses or man or beast.
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