These were mostly
headed townward in wagons and rickety old buggies, with the men riding
dignifiedly on the spring seat and the squaws and papooses sitting flat in the
bottom behind. These family parties became more and more inclined to turn and
stare after the Happy Family, as if they were puzzling over the errand that
would take nine men riding close-grouped across the desert, with four
pack-horses to proclaim the journey a long one.
When the trail swung sharply away from the dim wagon road and into the
northwest where the land lay parched and pitiless under the hot sun, the Happy
Family hitched their gun-belts into place, saw to it that their canteens were
brimming with the water that was so precious, and turned doggedly that way,
following the lead of Applehead, who knew the country fairly well, and of
Luck, who did not know the country, but who knew that he meant to overhaul
Ramon Chavez and Bill Holmes, go where they would, and take them back to jail.
If they could ride across this barren stretch, said Luck to Applehead, he and
his bunch could certainly follow them.
"Well, this is kinda takin' chances," Applehead observed soberly, "unless
Ramon, he knows whar's the water-holes.
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