"Man alive, I know that," said Shortredge, "but I want to go along."
Johnson coiled his rope and hung it carefully from the fork of the saddle. "No, I don't think you'd ought to go, Buf'lo."
"Why not? Listen to me, Lafe." He began to plead, his manner nervously insistent. "If it's going to come, it's going to come, and a lot of good dodging will do. Give me a chance, and not--say, I don't want to crawl off like a sick rat. Me and you never used to run away, did we? Well, I'd kind of like--I'd kind of like to be on top of a good horse."
"Come on, Lafe. Go get ol' Scrapper for me. I can stand it all right. Let's see The Hatter together, like we aimed to do. The sun'll be just busting himself when we get there."
"Well, you know what it means. Go get your saddle. Whatever you say, goes," said Johnson.
Ten horsemen met them where the path split, the one to the right sweeping upward and around the rim of the giant mountain. They were in ill-humor, for all had been roused from sleep and they knew what was ahead. Therefore, not a word was exchanged as they dog-trotted in single file. Sometimes only a pinpoint of light, when a cigarette glowed from a long intake, showed where they moved.
Rough and rocky was the trail. Shortredge came last, by Johnson's directions, and the cowboy in front turned in the saddle from time to time to ascertain that he followed in safety. He marveled much that Jim should attempt this ride, but advice is the last thing his class will obtrude. The night was black, but the western sky was a pale yellow, and a broken line of red wavered intermittently above the farther slope of The Hatter.
Once Shortredge became conscious of something beside him and faced toward it swiftly, but there was nothing there. He essayed a laugh. "Pshaw! I'm shore getting foolish," he muttered. "My eyes, I expect."
Twice after that he was moved to peer into the dark on his right hand. Surely something rode there, hovering very near. Lafe dropped back from his position at the head of the line, to satisfy himself about his friend.
"Stronger'n the oldest man in the world," said Buffalo cheerily.
Johnson ranged beside him for a short distance. The line wound ever upward, in silence. Several times a horse's hoof clacked on rocks with flare of sparks. At last: "Say, Lafe."