"
"Don't be silly, Jimmy," laughed Dorothy.
"Well, they _used_ to be Injuns in these hills, once."
"We'll behave," said Bartley. "But can't we ride toward the foothills
and get in the shade?"
"You just follow me," said Little Jim. "I know this country."
It was Little Jim's day. It was his hunt. Dorothy and Bartley were
merely his guests. He had allowed them to come with him--possibly
because he wanted an audience. Presently Little Jim reined his horse to
the left and rode up a dim trail among the boulders. By an exceedingly
devious route he led the way to the spring, meanwhile playing the scout
with intense concentration on some cattle tracks which were at least a
month old. Bartley recognized the spot. Cheyenne and he had camped there
upon their quest for the stolen horses. Little Jim assured his charges
that all was safe, and he suggested that they "light down and rest a
spell."
The contrasting coolness of the shade was inviting. Jimmy explained that
there would be no rabbits visible until toward evening. Below and beyond
them stretched the valley floor, shimmering in the sun.
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