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Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope, facing the valley and the
black, bold, flat mountain to the southeast. Some few hundred yards from camp
he halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize the ground.
The clean-cut track of a horse showed in the bare, hard sand. The hoof-marks
were large, almost oval, perfect in shape, and manifestly they were beautiful
to Lin Slone. He gazed at them for a long time, and then he looked across the
dotted red valley up the vast ridgy steps, toward the black plateau and
beyond. It was the look that an Indian gives to a strange country. Then Slone
slipped off the saddle and knelt to scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand
had blown into the depressions, and some of it was wet and some of it was dry.
He took his time about examining it, and he even tried gently blowing other
sand into the tracks, to compare that with what was already there. Finally he
stood up and addressed Nagger.
"Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill this mornin'," he said, with
satisfaction.


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