They were grazing quite a ways off, up the hillside.
Bartley recalled having glimpsed Little Jim crawling through the brush
on the south side of the spring. No doubt Jimmy had grown tired of
waiting, and had dropped down to the mesa on foot to hunt rabbits. Once
clear of the hillside brush, Bartley was able to overlook the mesa
below. Presently he discerned a black hat moving along slowly. Evidently
the young hunter was stalking game.
Bartley hesitated to call out. He doubted that Jimmy could hear him at
that distance. Stepping down the gentle slope of the hillside to the
road, Bartley watched Jimmy for a while, hoping that he would turn and
see him. But Jimmy was busy. "Might as well go back and get the horses
and ride over to him," said Bartley.
He had turned to cross the road, when he heard the sound of quick
hoof-beats. Surely Dorothy had not caught up the horses so soon? Bartley
turned toward the bend of the road. Presently a rider, his worn chaps
flapping, his shapeless hat pulled low, and his quirt swinging at every
jump of the horse, pounded up and had almost passed Bartley, when he set
up his horse and dismounted.
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