Page:Cherokee Trails (1928).pdf/179

 dently a barn. There was considerable hay in stacks, and stalks of corn littering the corral, the first evidence of cultivation Simpson had seen since leaving the Kansas homesteads, although there were no fields in sight. It was a shiftless, crude, comfortless place, not even what Simpson had expected of Wade Harrison, wide-famed as he was.

But that was the place; there was no doubt of it. The horses had been driven straight to that corral; their tracks could be followed plainly to the bars. They must have put them right through, with perhaps a few hours' rest and grazing at the place where Simpson had come across their cold fire and coffee grounds. The rascals probably were asleep in the house that minute.

Hogs were feeding on the nuts and pawpaws in the strip of woods where Simpson was concealed. He could hear them mouthing and grunting, and felt apprehensive of a stampede among the wild creatures which might betray his presence. Cautiously he withdrew farther from the road, assured as he proceeded that the wood was not frequented by anything but the livestock of the place and that no habitation was concealed among the trees. Here he might wait undiscovered, rest his horse and himself after the trying ride through the timber, and set himself for the business ahead of him.

Fire being out of the question, he made his midday meal on a can of beans, while his horse browsed, in a little glade where bluegrass grew, with only the bridle removed. Simpson kept within jump of the horse, ready for any emergency.

As he regaled himself on the cold comfort of beans,