I left the horses down in the bottoms and climbed this point to try and flash a signal to you.” The voice trailed away. When it came again it held a note of fear. “Why don’t you answer? I took the wrong trail, I guess.”
Moran felt Kinney gently disengaging his arm and drawing away from him.
“All right, Nash,” Kinney said soothingly. “You’re going to get started on the right trail at last.”
The roar of Kinney’s gun crashed in Moran’s ears. The figure on the rims tossed up its arms and swayed for a single second, then disappeared. A sound floated up to the two men on the ridge—the sound of a heavy body crashing through the spruce trees hundreds of feet below.
Without a word they resumed their way, working down the point of the spur. Once in the bottoms they turned into the mouth of Atlantic Creek and took the broad trail which followed it. When they reached the rocky bar they removed their boots and crossed it without a sound, resuming their footgear as soon as they reached the far side. It had been prearranged between them to wait just within the mouth of the canyon for Har-
