The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1915-02-09
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
pit of torment and of burning.
Refreshed from rest and exhilarated
by this grateful GOODNESS, 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 eff
fortress and tireless lope of the plains
bred broncho, ventre-a-terre.
Alan's departure frora 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 avengement-laying
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 Jim's 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 its double burden.
their horse made better time upon
the broad lower level than those who
followed the ridge trail BY mid-morn-
ing, when they approached the foot
hills that ran down to the desert, the
pursuit was more than a mile in the
rear and shut off to boot by a 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 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
derby arrangement by sagebrush and
gnarled cacti. At the distance of half
mile all blended into one vast plain
of glazing gray that stretched over
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 shading hand, he
| discerned nothing that moved upon
the surface of the desert but it's
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 refined 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
ton with the ridge trail, miles away.
1t 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-
ton that the fright OK Judith's horse
| had persisted
Abandoning Immediately all notion
OF returning through the hills by the
| rfdge-trail. he turned and swung away
at the best pace he could spur from
his bron::ho. delivering himself into