which went galloping southward as if they belonged down that way.
Simpson rode into the timber, snatched his rifle from the saddle of the horse he had left tied there, cut the animal loose and started it on the jump after the others. Then on, toward home, with little hope in him of ever getting there.
The Kansas line must be thirty-five or forty miles away, he knew. He had taken every horse on the place, but there doubtless were others available near at hand for the thieves to mount and pursue him. He could not expect to go far without a fight. When it came, he could do no less than give them the best he had, and trust to the luck that had been kind to him this day.
He had his revolver and rifle, and Dan's gun was uncomfortably evident between his trousers waistband and his tank. Noah's gun and belt hung over the saddle-horn, where it swung with a chance of being lost in that hard riding. Tom put the belt over his shoulder in the fashion of a bandolier, the gun under his arm.
So he galloped after the band, early dusk and thickening mists making the road ahead obscure, the Block E mare leading the bunch in a race as desperate as a man ever rode on the Cherokee trails.
