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 a full man and a warm one, his spirits away up to the top of the tube, got his herd under way. The sun was rising; there would be no lack of a guide the rest of the journey, let it be long or short. There was no trail here, no faintest trace that there ever had been. That mare had followed her nose when the road gave out. Tom hoped she had gone in the right direction.

How far he was from the Kansas line he could not even guess, but the horses were fresh now, if not so frisky or keen for the march, able for it without another stop if it could be crossed before night. And so he was off, the sun at his right hand, as sustaining and helpful in his necessity as a friend encountered in a strange and hostile land.

There was not a habitation in sight anywhere in the sweep of country that presented as Simpson mounted the successive hills, not a cow-camp, although many cattle grazed in those abundant pastures. These moved indifferently out of the way as the horses approached, some of the younger animals bucking and cavorting playfully along as if to show their independence, and perhaps a little mocking contempt, of riderless horses running in a captive drove. Tom hoped luck would continue to favor him, allowing him to cross the line without meeting anybody, as curious questioning might lead to dangerous ground.

The country broke rougher as he proceeded, much limestone outcropping on the hills and slopes, a considerable growth of scrub oak here and there. The land was furrowed by deep ravines, with the perpendicular banks common to prairie washes, making long detours necessary. Simpson understood now why no trail led directly