The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1915-02-04
CHAPTER XII.

The Trail of Flying Hoof.Prints.
In the still air of that young day the
chill of night fingered stubbornly--
and would until the shadow of the
eastern rampant had crept slowly
down the canyons western wall tele-
scoped upon itself and vanished, let
ting in the sun to make the place a
pit of torment and of burning.
Refreshed from rest and exhilarated
by this grateful coolness, his horse
responded willingly to the first light
touch of Alan's spur. In a twinkling
the overnight camp dropped from view
behind the rounded shoulder Of hill
side, mesquite-cloaked
Then from it's first spirited flight
the horse settled down to steady 60
ing, heightened it's stride, and ran for
leagues with the long, apparently ef-
fortress and tireless lope of the plains
bred bronCho, yentre-a-terre.
Alan's departure from camp had an
ticipated by a round quarter-hour the
appearance on the upper trail of
friends of the slain bandit, to the
| number of four or five, who had both
discovered and recovered his body,
called his death murder and pledged
themselves to it's engement-layipg
responsibility for the putative crime
at the door Of the man and woman
to be seen in the canyon, Immediately
below the scene of Hopi Jims fall.
Between the moment when discov-
cry of the men on the ridge trail in
terrupted their simple and hurried
| breakfast and that which found Rose
and BarCus mounted on the back of
their own horse and making the best
of their way down the canyon in pur-
suit of Alan, but little time had
| elapsed.
And even with it's double burden,
their horse made better time upon
| the broad lower level than those who
followed the ridge trail BY midmorn-
! ing, when they approached the foot,
| hills that ran down to the desert, the
| pursuit was more than mile in the
rear and shut off to boot by mono.
lithic hill, while Alan was many a
weary mile in advance.
He sat upon his horse. just then. at
standstill upon the summit of a round
ed knoll, the Painted hills lifting up
| behind him, the desert before unfold
ing like a map--but like a map all
| blurred.
Only in the near foreground was
anything definite to be distinguished
in the aspect OF that sunbitten waste
bleaChed earth patterned in almost or
derly arrangement by sagehrush and
gnarled cacti. At the distance of half
mile all blended into one vast plain
of glaring gray that stretched over
the round of the world to a broken
wall of purple hills that reeled drunk.
emily in the haze-veiled southwest.
Was Judith out there, somewhere,
lost, defenseless, forlorn, impotent to
lift hand to shield her face from the
blast of that savage sun?
Staring beneath a shading hand, he
discerned nothing that moved upon
the surface of the desert but its
myriad heat-devils jigging monoto,
nously their internal danse macabre
Or--as seemed more probable--was
she back there among the Painted
hills, lying still and lifeless, crushed
beneath the weight of that fallen
horse?
No rest for Alan till he knew =.
Descending the knoll he reined his
tagging mount back into the trail, fol-
lowing its winding course through the
foothills and round the base of that
monolithic mountain toward the juno
tion with the ridge trail, miles away.
It approached the hour of noon be-
fore he gained the point where the
two trails Joined and struck out across
the desert. And here he discovered
what he thought indisputable indica.
tion that the fright of Judith's horse
had persisted
Abandoning Immediately all notion
OF returning through the hills by the
ridge-trail he turned and swung away
at the best pace he could spur from
his broncho. delivering himself into